The Same God

who fashioned the universe
in the shape of a wilted
            pear blossom
shaped your pelvis
            after a shark’s jaw.

            The same God
who created eyes
            & ears
made sunlight silent
& sound invisible. 

            The same God
who made the stars
close enough to see
made them too far away

to ever reach.

            The same God
who doubted His own
made the silences
            after words.

              The same God
who broke open the gaps
between atoms & galaxies
            built you a soul,
a little gray thing like a krill
swimming in your belly,
            & left it hollow
            so you’d hunger.

            The same God
who experienced regret,
who ceased to believe,
who forgot His own face,
dove into your body
to take your hunger back,
            but lost Himself
in the forest of your ribcage,
& dissolved like a pill
            in your blood.

The Same God

Photo used under CC.


About Author


Jonathan Louis Duckworth received his MFA from Florida International University. His fiction, poetry, and non-fiction appears in New Ohio Review, Fourteen Hills, PANK Magazine, Thrice Fiction, Cha, Superstition Review, and elsewhere.

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