Pastor preaches that you have a plan
for my 14-year-old life.
Can you send it FedEx or
angel-bareback-on-a-horse?
What’s beyond these cracked
sidewalks and dreams crumpled
like left-behind clothes
post-rapture? Am I to wear
the black dust that settled
on my grandparents’ graves?
Can my ancestors’ sweat
be a soup that fills my belly,
fuels the stirring in my soul?
Is home a place around me
or a place inside me? What if
I don’t like the path you’ve carved
for me, God? What if Pastor
is wrong?