i have no sense of object permanence

at heart i am two months old / there are days where i feel God / thrumming my tiny heart / pushing blood in and out / and in my cheeks / making them a brilliant shade of pink / in my palms as i clutch my grandmother's crocheted blanket / made especially for my mother / for myself.

and then there are days where / the sky is unforgivably, gloriously gray / and yet the rain refuses to fall / refuses to provide the grass the relief it so desperately needs / where time is so sluggish i age a year in just an hour / and my mother locks herself in the kitchen / eyes trained on overdue bills / and lab results which confuse more than help / and my grandfather cannot comprehend / my tiny fists clutching at his pant leg / his eyes dazed, then frightened / at the sight of me, unknown to him / despite him holding me when i first came home.

and it's these days that i am convinced i've never met Him.