All those Gods in the Garden

​If there’s a God in here under my bed, he’s shivering in the snowstorm swept up by the air conditioner and the coldness in my eyes. She tells me my rage is pure ice. Glaciers upon glaciers upon glaciers of endless terror. I am so angry that I am nothing else; except I am. 

If there’s a God in here hiding in the closet, she’d be trying her very hardest to not let out a laugh. Tiptoe around these clothes to form a shape of me. Am I pretty enough for your gentle eyes? She laughs anyway; no one has to know of the unkindness in your arms. You’re pretty, it must be a happy little thing.

If there’s a God next to the shadows where the sun doesn’t go, it’s testing boundaries. What happens to gold when it touches a shadow at the bottom of a clear lake? It worries about the nonchalance of my smile. I do not care for you, please stop tailing behind me. She says I come across as soft, ethereal. Perhaps if I break loud enough, you’d pity me just the right amount to keep me in your mind.