The Same Old God
I’m taking my new God
on a walk
to tell him what I expect
from this relationship.
He says,
‘You’re a funny girl—
the way you worship, then
ask your deity to remain
worthy.’ He knows
my heart is a shrine
that collapses just to be built
stronger in his image.
He says, ‘You are
a harmless girl,
a sore throat which
only speaks Sorry—
a lover first and
human second.
I saw what you did
with the symbols I gave you—
I wasn’t impressed;
I was disturbed.
Your sheets were folding
into themselves.
The bed—a boat
from mars. Foreign
and discomforting.
Collapsing &
capsized by prayer.
You ordered a heart-
shaped bathtub &
never swam in it.
The others,
they dropped roses
from the Pantheon.
They turned the
tram into a spaceship
and called it
commemoration.
The outer world
was sane in its
symbolism while
you made a ceremony
of grief
called isolation.
Do not ask me to change.
You’ll spend the last
of your warm days
listless, breathless under
the unmoored boat of me.’
Painted Sails
for my father, Wayne
1969,
You young boy—
painting the depth of sails.
Shadows deep
with the knowledge
of a stroke.
