Smite My Forehead

Smite my
forehead,
I’ve had it all
wrong.

I’ve imagined
a Maker
Whom I
was meant to
search for,

in meditations, or
sacred libraries, or
kneel-in
prayer closets.

As if He, She –
okay, THEY –
intended our
lives to be
one
long
game
of Hide-and-Seek.

I may have
found
something:

Perhaps
the Maker
longs to
look for
Us,

in our
goofy romances,
our
sweaty games,
our
brush-stroked paintings,
our
dervish dances,
our
Marvel movies,
our
beautiful, beautiful
Books.

Perhaps
our Maker
adores Us
so much
They want
nothing more
than to see
What
We can
Make.

(Photo by Ari He; UnSplash)