The God Ritual

I saw her there again, wear­ing the same clothes, with her life in two new gro­cery bags. On the same night of anoth­er face­less week, except the tem­per­a­ture dropped, and I was stand­ing out­side in my bomber jack­et, look­ing in. This time, she was sit­ting upright and silent, unmov­ing, hat draped over her eyes.

Crashing inside, I thought.

Her hands were cracked and dark from expo­sure. How I want­ed to reach out, and straight­en the tan­gled skein of her black hair. But what could I do?

God isn’t here any­more.


  1. for­tu­nate­ly, you could­n’t be more wrong about that.. ;)

  2. Was he ever?

    Or did he just take a cof­fee break?

    I think he took a cof­fee break dur­ing the first four days of my week, just to ruf­fle my hair. Then a beau­ti­ful man called me Mae-Mae on paper, and anoth­er beau­ti­ful man with a scruffy beard walked me to my car in the crispy cold, just because we did­n’t want to break a con­ver­sa­tion­al stride.

    At that point god, or what­ev­er it is, fin­ished his cof­fee and turned my TV back on and laughed.

    I should blog that.

  3. This and the com­ments. Making it the most con­fus­ing post.

  4. The first com­ment was pret­ty ran­dom; it does­n’t quite make any sense. I think you need to read the pre­vi­ous, linked entry to under­stand.

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