“Searching for God” by Deborah Hall

Once,

she had

conversations with God

when her world

was Barbie dolls,

giggles, hide-and-seek

and pigtails.

Then, a grown-up man,

a Vietnam Vet,

took her

to the deserted cove

of a beach.

The gulls,

the crabs,

the Pacific waves,

and the Cove Who Saw All

tried to save her,

and she lost God.

Since then

she searches the shores

and her hurricane-ravaged mind

through all the

debris

for any sign

sifting through sand

and shifting dunes

in between the ribs

of bleached bones,

in the rusty echos

of sea shells

and frosted gifts of glass.

She thinks she hears him

in the tearing of her heart

in the blue, blue sky,

in her lover’s creased thigh

in the fat man’s white lie –

the one who eats ice cream

to opera

while he stands

in the waves and waves

goodbye

in all things awry,

in the sound

of the kelp

as it screams her name,

she was sure it was him,

but found instead

decaying flesh

of the flying fish

the fisherman left

to rot.

She once looked

in the locket

of her heart,

finding only ashes

and sharp

edges

and when finally

he came to her

door

and knocked,

she gazed out the window

and refused

to answer.

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