God didn’t look down low for me

My grandmother said, faithfully, confidently—“God sits up high and looks down low”. I could see the joy in her eyes, that mirth in her face—adoration tinged heights in her voice, trumpets sounding loudly singing praises most grand. In her aged hands, *that* book, like a leather belt—strapped tightly, a subtle reminder to obey—always.

I sat in silence. God sits up high and looks down low? Really?

—how low? Where did he go to see me? Did he find me in the hole? Drenched in tears, surrounded by sheets covered in my sorrows, my moans not in praise, as they say on the moanin‘ bench—but, in agony, I clenched to covers in between my fingers, clutching my prayers in my breast as the belt cracked down on my exposed skin—

stripped bare and clean, I writhed, each lashing stinging, teeth grinding, pain, I remember the “step”—mother I had drilling into my being that it’s all my fault, how could I not follow directions, all I had to do was *follow directions*—crack—why can’t do you do what I tell you, CRACK—this is the on—CRACK—ly WAY—

Did he look down below? in a cavern? A ravine? deep trench opening, spreading wide—my legs, he touches my legs, he undresses me with his eyes—a cave fleshy pink, did he look there? When he touched me and I said ‘no’, did he look in the mouth, telling me I’ll “learn to like it”, did he look below? I screamed out into nothingness, this cave is too deep, I can’t climb out—he won’t stop he won’t let go it hurts, please, stop—I don’t like it, will he let go, why won’t he stop?!

He looked for me in the desert? Nowhere to be seen, my “family” never dripping water of Life, Love—only ever thirsting for more, I can’t cry anymore, why can’t they love me, I can’t do it anymore why can’t they see me—I’m alone, where are you, when will you get here I’m alone?!

god didn’t look down low for me. He sat up high.