find rest

bosom
a ‘makes-you-giggle’ kind of word
like pre-teen boys on the playing field
testing out which words 
fall by the wayside or
notch them up the status ladder

bosom
in our quickly stolen
moments of quiet
alone with 
our naked 
vulnerabilities
we see ourselves plainly
never too adult for
the refuge of a mother’s embrace

bosom
on the night of betrayal
dawn of history’s new day
feet cleaned
bread divided up
wine shared
there one of twelve
rested his head
“Lord, who is it?”

bosom
it’s me
fleeing to the desert
so i can take matters into my own hands
but the sand always slips through my fingers
a gentle voice calls 
carried by the faint mists of 
flowing water from trickling tributaries
i wander
until outstretched arms pull me in
intimacy almost unbearable
i am held
in your

bosom

Written by Scott Moore
Illustrated by Landon Wideman

Inspired December 2021