God is an Eritrean Woman

I was tired.

Irritation arose in me

Like a branch bent beyond

The breaking point.

//

Green leaves lost, forgotten,

I snapped.

“God, where are you?”

I cried.

//

But the only reply I received

Was silence

Crickets

A cold breeze piercing my skin.

//

“Maybe some time away,”

I thought to myself.

“Perhaps God is far

From this place.”

//

But nothing.

//

No earthquake.

//

No fire.

//

No voice.

//

And then I came home.

I entered the door to the place

Where happiness and sadness live

In equal measure.

/

As I enter, she greets me.

“I missed you!”

God tells me,

And she embraces me.

//

God isn’t who I thought she was.

With a smile, she brings me tea.

She tells me about her week,

Placing her coal-black hand on my arm.

//

“I didn’t make it to the UK,”

She says.

“The others did,

But maybe this week is my turn.”

//

“I hope so,” I reply.

God isn’t who I thought she was.

Rather, I learned the truth:

God is an Eritrean

//

Woman.