Evidence

I grew up in a rigidly scientific family.
External evidence was king.

My father was not religious,
For many reasons, but
One such reason was:
“There is no evidence.”

He’d prattle on about how
“Scientists have never found a soul in our bodies,” and
He’d loudly proclaim the burden of proof
Falls on the party making the claim.

He loved the American legal system.

Anyway,
As I’ve grown,
I’ve come to appreciate how utterly full of shit he was.
You’d have to be ignorant,
To not see the evidence.

Cardinals follow me.
They duck in and out of my skyline,
Little flecks of red,
Reminding me of color and warmth
During cold winter seasons.

Numbers are everywhere I look.
They speak to me in codes,
Gently nudging me along the path,
Guiding me with information about
Where I am now and where I will be soon.

Just this morning, a sign came.
As I loaded my car for the final time,
Fleeing a home that imprisoned me,
I turned on the bathroom light
To find the bulb above
My former sink
Burnt out.

That’s evidence enough, for me.