By Alec Montalvo
I don’t know about the others,
but my Grandma once
told me how God stares
back at us through the stars
and when they fall, or run
across the night sky, it means
you might have done something
wrong. So follow it up
with three Hail Marys
and get to mass next Sunday.
I don’t know about the others,
but my father once pointed
at a sheer crescent moon
and told me it was God’s
toenail. I’m not sure
what he was getting at,
but with the toenail moon pierced
through the soft navy backdrop
of sky, I couldn’t help but wonder
where the nail met the toe,
where the toe met the foot, to the leg,
to his torso, maybe lounging
on a yellow stained cot,
watching us through
trillions of tiny stars like pixels
on his dimensional tube screen,
with omniscient eyes bleeding
swarms of extradimensional bees.