God Rides the Subway on Sundays
By Eleen Raja
I don’t think of God much.
There are mornings when I wake up
With half of my limbs on the roof
Of my childhood house and
The others in a blue room
next to my mother’s.
I can never find the head
but I imagine it rotting
two feet deep at the north end of the
neighborhood park pond with
a cluster of tadpoles nestled in the sockets.
I always dreamed of being a home
like all poets for things
that we may never hear outside of water
Could a Tadpole define death?
What does it matter to the Carp
that’s about to swallow a chunk of them?
And old man Anwar’s Calico
that’ll gnaw on it at dawn?
I don’t think of God much but when I do
I think of Him as an old man on the subway
hiding a cat in his coat.
Eleen Raja is an aspiring writer located in Lahore. She is currently pursuing an undergraduate degree in English literature while heading The Ravi as editor, a prestigious publication of GCU. She enjoys and contributes to the genres of science and speculative fiction while dabbling in poetry every now and then. Her favorite writer is Kurt Vonnegut and she adores the poetry of Emily Dickinson and Frank Bidart.