God Rides the Subway on Sundays

 

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.

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