You pray in perfect sentences
like an architect’s muse has
grazed each phrase, and I want
to tell you that God prefers
groans from the deepest recesses
of the soul. I hate your Pentecostalism,
believing it’s religious babble
amounting to nothing,
but then I remember you
wept when I did, when friends
forsook and rejection crowned me
with her withered chaplet,
I think of when you asked me to
have faith that things will
work out, though I refused to
believe that such naïve hope
amounted to prayers heard and
shouts of joy,
you put me before you,
sacrificed so much, dedicated
your heart to helping me get better,
made me chase my dreams
though failure lurked in the shadows,
coating everything with mildew,
antithetical to stardust, which
causes one to orbit the brightest stars,
and I wonder if God has really asked me
to hate someone whose faith doesn’t
align with mine. Doesn’t she only
hanker for a better world? Must we
suffer and suffer and only think
of the world to come? But then
I contemplate the nature of good,
Abraham’s confusion, Jephthah’s
sacrifice, and wonder if good that
predetermines evil and punishes,
and wars with weak mortals is
good at all, I guess the deeper
questions elude me, and theodicy
was never my strong suit, but I
know I cannot stay angry with
you who shared your home with me,
and the wealth of goodwill you’ve
shown me, embracing me when
everything green fades to blue
and then black, creates a mild orange,
a breath, a spark, and though we
come from different places, seeing
things from dissimilar vantage points,
you, a kaleidoscope of beauty
and I, a dungeon of bleakness,
I share your beliefs in a weird
sense, and if that isn’t
love, I don’t know what is.
Ordinary Person 
Leave a Reply