by VANESA EVERS
our church
hands searched as if we’d been found
trees pressing against our backs
we used to play hideandgogetit
once touched we came from hiding places
those who liked being lost— stayed
lost together in the dark
mothers’ voices called
“church is out” but not for us
who found god in wet grass
and from then on
the man will be
passed from
his mother
like a gift
to his wife
who must now
force herself
into him
and become one
as if giving birth
to a child
she did not want.