hands

they told me
to raise hands
in the church,
to thank god
for sharp shooting, 
for liberty and death. 

they told me
to fold hands
at my pew,
to drink juice
made up of grape
and the blood of Jesus. 

they told me
to shake hands
with the law,
to protect
my way of life,
pursuit of happiness. 

but they didn’t know
my hands were tied
with cords of peace
and doubt
or that i wondered
if the church
was too worried about
what my hands looked like
to notice the hands of a Savior
who chose nails
over
freedom.