Written by Anna Bailey

In philosophy class
my stomach grumbles.
Firecracker teacher,
“What does it mean to be human?
Image of God.”

We slap a band-aid
on an open wound.

In chapel
my stomach grumbles.
Peaceful preacher,
“What is incarnation?
Love with skin.”

My mother is love
with skin; always
listening while deadlines creep.
My father is love
with skin; googling my future
while I sleep.
My sisters are love
with skin; ignoring my too loud laughter,
letting me weep.
My brother is love
with skin; trying to talk while I’m trying
to sleep.

Love with skin,
let us
God’s image