You pulled me to You,
up out of the dusty road.
The blood and sweat and tears
mixing with dust
upon my sunburnt skin
did not deter You.
You knew what You would do.
You covered me with fine silk
that rippled down over my newly-washed curves
like the words You spoke
as you bathed me—
words that washed me like water,
kind words, words of forgiveness.
Your fingers untangled the knots in my hair,
carefully separating the strands
and removing the broken hairs.
You worked slowly, purposefully,
mitigating any pain
by holding my head still
or holding the hair just right.
And all the while You hummed a song.
You took delight in Your work—
I heard Your smile travel up and down
the notes of the lullaby
You next put into words.
Your smile, like sunlight between the leaves of the tree,
dappled upon my cheek.
I wanted to turn to look upon Your face,
but You held me still—
there was yet more work to do.