Sunday Worship
Sara Kay
I wanted to tell you
that your silence felt safer than most people’s warmth,
that your hands on my body
felt like forgiveness for all I had endured.
That I wasn’t just falling for you —
I was remembering what it felt like
to be soft again.
But you never asked.
And I didn’t offer.
I kept it all tucked behind my ribs,
calling it timing,
calling it caution,
calling it anything but love.
So now you walk around
unaware of the cathedral I built for you inside me,
unaware that I still step through it sometimes, barefoot,
trying to feel close to what we never said.
Sara Kay
Sara Kay, a poet rediscovering her voice after a decade of hibernation, writes with the resilience of survival and the spark of rebirth. At 28, she celebrates creativity alongside her love for pop culture, her career in social media, and the perfect bitter coffee sweetened with a single sugar cube.