I like your body;
it’s a good body,
you said as if in defiance of
years of bad theology too apt to cling
to my skin, acting as filter through which
I made too many decisions,
telling girls too young to know
how to put on a bra or wear a tampon
that they are never subjects, only objects,
so stay atop the tree, and never let yourself become low-hanging fruit.
These conversations turned the air stale
until the implication had insinuated itself into every hallway
and after-church donut:
If you have a body, maybe God doesn’t want you.
Don’t like your body;
it’s a bad body.
And knowing what a lie it is
doesn’t matter as much
as hearing the truth,
the liberating syllables,
of seeing creation
and saying, it is good.
An Indomitable Grace 
I came to feminism late. At university the feminists all seemed much more interested in exercising power than in discovering and declaring truth. But I slowly came to realize that the feminist goals of equal respect and equal treatment for women were my goals, too. I’m still uncomfortable with the label feminist, but, heck, I’m also an evangelical Christian, and given the current political climate, I’m pretty uncomfortable with that label too. I’m a feminist evangelical Christian, i.e., a pro-woman, good-news sharing, follower of Jesus Christ.
And I like your poem.
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