Photo/Poem

God by Sandra Beasley

My god is a short god. My god wears jeans.

When he swims, he has a lazy breaststroke.

When he gardens, he uses his bare hands.

My god watches reruns of late night talk shows.

My god could levitate but prefers the stairs

and if available, the fireman’s pole. My god

loves bacon. My god’s afraid of sharks.

My god thinks the only way to define a country

is with water. My god thinks eventually,

we will come around on ear candling. My god

spits chaw. My god never flosses.

My god reads Proust. My god never

graduated. He smiles when astronauts reach

zero gravity and say My god, My god.

My god is knitting one very big sweater.

My god is teaching his terrier to beg.

My god didn’t mean for icebergs. My god

didn’t mean for machetes. Sometimes

a sparrow lands in the hands of my god

and he cups it, gently. It never wants to leave

and so, it never notices that even if it tried

my god has too good a grip, my god, my god.

(from Granta)