The Gentle Art of Beseeching – a poem by Kale Hensley

The Gentle Art of Beseeching

O’ the rain longs to rust, to cling, to age 
the same as the sun. What a pleasure to press
oneself as freckles, to run rampant upon 
an unsuspecting cheek. Hours spent fumbling 
for syllables begins to look silly. I do not 
need a world that is easy to please, but I would
prefer it wet, and blue. I desire a lens un-
easily forgotten; some shade older than knowing,
the yolk of a holy egg, that tone I wore
when I lived in a land of churches hesitant. Enter,
but please cover your hair. Pull the scarf
from a box older than you are. I bound myself in
lace, oh blue, fashioned my palms how
they told me to. Up there, someone must know
how to stifle a soul that seeks to pool
around the ankles. So I ask and do not hear back.

Kale Hensley is a West Virginian by birth and a poet by faith. You can keep up with them at kalehens.com.