I SAID TO MY GOD
Maybe because I stopped
watering my houseplants
& let decay grow around me.
A happy man on the subway said
he’d pray for me
& I said no.
I don’t know what it was
that he saw: some deviled sadness
or an unloved angle of my spine.
The only god I’ve ever believed
in is New York City
& for that—apologies.
I was raised this way,
& it has cost years I can’t count
& if I am winning the war, I never really know.
I once believed my god
was only & best
& was able to love back.
This, despite lives robbed,
starving children
& a trembling city morphing in ash.
I believed my god
gave me what I deserved
& home & purpose & hope.
I am told my mom was a catholic
good enough for church
& for that—apologies.
I worry about my ability
to grow dumb and cruel
under this God’s altar.
So I said to my God: No.
No, I can’t love another
indifferent winter as a practice in patience.
I can’t swim in a self-important meeting
announcing I’ve fucked someone
I don’t remember.
This city is so strange
& impossible to hold & fully know
like any wholesome lover craves.
Maybe because I once believed
love only meant stay, I said to my god,
No, I absolutely can’t love you.
Jeanne Henry is a New York City-based Poet. Her work has appeared in Prick of the Spindle, Banango Street, The Found Poetry Review and other literary journals. She would love to hear from you on Twitter @papermaw.
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