Our father sees God in the ocean, a hillside.
The divine chucks itself on his surfboard.
Science unraveled the start of the world by noting all planets are drifting away.
At fifteen, I am all girl-flesh, no faith—
O body. The globe of it expanding. New creases & out into space.
Science echoes the sprawl of a teen’s day / heart / or god.
Mom wakes in-patient from an overdose,
slides out into space. I want:
the boy who plays drums to begin to painfully love me.
I drag my body to a Day of Obligation. Our father asks:
Can you proofread my prophecy? Something hope.
Something loss. At sixteen, I have wounds on each wrist.
Tiny stigma, stigmata. Mom comes to in a red room,
feet bent back & she’s smiling.
She comes to me in the beige leather front seat of her Honda.
Mom tells: I have a secret you can’t ever share.
All of life is the secret, & the porn, & the spheres she drives forward:
chatroom lovers, knifepoint shoes, white-knuckle sober.
As she unwinds, I fold inwards.
I fold inwards. O Earth, you are still too young & keening.
You do not know yet how to swallow the universe without tasting.