God. God. God?

My people throw the name of God

out like candy, not in vain

but in the way you say the name

of someone you love again and again.

 

Every greeting a prayer & every prayer a greeting:

God deliver you safely. God give you health.

God grant you success. Peace & blessings & mercy of God

be upon you. Our throats turn into minarets,

 

the minarets our throats. God is closer to you

than your jugular vein. When we talk to God,

we put a finger to our throats and hear the pulse.

When we talk to our dictator, he puts a boot

 

to our necks. When I talk to my father, the house

is empty. I talk to my father and I understand

why Moses turned prophet for another god.

I talk to my father and I understand fascism.

 

Fatherhood looks like godhood in the nations

and houses of pharaohs. Daughterhood

looks like prophethood when you hit the peak of puberty

like the peak of Mount Sinai. When your body

 

grows into new borders & all your pleas to this once infallible being

collapse into a new kind of faith like the Red Sea

collapsing onto Pharoah and his army. Into a prayer on the tip

of the tongue, inarticulate but earnest incantation—God. God. God?


Also by Salma Amrou