He comes in late. He comes in hungry.
The words on the screen flash by too fast, usually.
Fourteen years old. Learning to read.
He’s not one for raising his voice–not musically.
They say “stand up.” He gets up slowly.
Finally a song where he knows the words, mostly.
Comes here a lot. Feels pretty safe.
Some people who love him are praising God, vocally.
They say “mercy.” They say “forgiveness.”
Jesus does seem to be sane, in this craziness.
What of his sisters? What of his hunger?
This might be his first time believing in innocence.
He hums the tune. He looks to the sides.
Others are singing with raised hands and closed eyes.
Is Jesus here? Is Jesus hearing?
A lyric escapes him, he lets it, his voice climbs.
He is a boy. He lives like a man.
More years will pass before there’s no fist in his hand.
But here and now? A moment of freedom.
Thinking of Jesus, he sings out, loud as he can.