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.
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