the insomniac bible

I want to say my prayers but something is clenching my jaw closed

and the only place my knees can find solace is at the foot of my bed

as if God sat me down there to ease my seasick brain.

And I'm not trying to make you religious

but if God is fighting for your soul

take the invitation and I'll meet you halfway.

I hate talking to bodies

but I don't mind whispering across quiet rooms to His

and I wonder if He hears me or if the teachers are all just spitting rumors.

And I still don't know why it rained on June 17, 

why fever medicine is distributed every 6 hours

who invented curse words and who was the first man offended by them

why coffee-stained menus aren't just garbage to some people

how candy corn got its name

or what the shape of the skies are going to be at twilight tonight,

but I know I cried harder than the skies did that June 17

and maybe it took 6 hours for God to make it to the edge of her sick bed

and I've laughed at too many curse words but wiped them off my slate once my knees found the bed,

and every note and movie ticket that should've been recycled keeps my anxiety at bay.

But Halloween has nothing on Christmas

and the sun will always be a sphere 

and the skies, even at their angriest, will never stop being rearranged like art.

Like God.

God let me fall asleep easy on June 17.

He took the fever in his left hand,

set the curse words on fire and watched them wither out of my skin,

and pushed the postcards from the foreigners into the mailbox.

And that's why candy corn is Papa's favorite

and the skies are a canvas

and we're walking through a gallery.

I'm not trying to make you religious

but God fought for my soul

facedown so the carpet could muffle the doubt

and all I had to do was let him win.