Granda Poem by Jack Sedman

I see myself kneeling
face down through slats
of well-rubbed wooden
bars. your painful face
hidden, filters along
the warm electric
half-lit orange
air into white room
shut. now dead the
night stands still. fear
I find strength bearing
down lightly creak
the latch: not anger
but an arm outstretched
to collapse now free
these soft arms yours.

naïve
yet a child, I know.
so we slump together
we kneel not for prayer
not for him or us, but
for love: for his kind
steady hands, laugh
and bristled kiss.