He asked if I was the type of woman that prayed.
A trick question.
I can fall to my knees, so yes, I pray.
Tell me about God, he said.
God is my favorite cereal, I said.
God is a ghost that hovers behind my right shoulder.
God gets drunk and is hard to understand when he slurs.
God once gave me a t-shirt that said, "I'm with stupid,"
because he knows how to be ironic.
God is the best lover.
“It doesn’t make sense. I thought you were a lost cause,” he said.
“Isn’t that the beauty of it?” I asked, “What is there to save?
The conversation reminded me how my grandmother scoffed
at me for not burning a candle once because it was too pretty.
It was carved in the form of a dove.
She said it was ridiculous to try and save a candle.
It was made to melt.
I looked at St. Jude and felt sorry for him.
“We all need to burn,” I said.
Published in Clark Street Review 2012