The Lord heard my groan
As one held captive—condemned.
His name will be praised.
photo: Catch the Dream
Sleeping on his stomach with his arms crossed in front of his face, which was buried in the wrinkled white sheet and wedged against the pillow, he looked like he was playing hide-and-go-seek and was slowly and silently counting to one thousand.
His blue plaid pajama top was pulled down from his shoulders—probably removed during a hot spell in the night—and lay across his back like a small blanket, the kind he used when he was a toddler. He would carry around two, one in each hand, arms upraised in V’s, and he would swagger from side to side, smiling and gap-toothed. As he lay there now, the surface of his skin was still like a mountain lake in the morning with the mist hovering over it. I listened for and heard his steady breath: in and out, in and out, slowly counting. To a thousand.