Laura Gibson Glory
I remember my mothers hands
laced in prayer, frail as birds.
Faith she carried like a terrible, terrible ache
I have never seen such glory since.
I remember my Father's voice,
dressed in anger, swollen with grace.
My surrender, his forgiveness,
I have never seen such glory since
I remember my sisters belly,
white and swollen, carefully swaying.
Eyes were glowing from carrying such grace.
I have never seen such glory since
