Poem: The Estrangement

The Estrangement

They want me to believe
that God looks just like me,
that I’m created in
his celestial image—
we both have fingers, toes,
beards, eyes, and weird ear lobes.
Is it so?
I don’t know.

It feels more offensive
to give me a sense of
our similarities
when he’s not here to see.
I wouldn’t expect to
see a gas or a spook.
Shouldn’t he
just like me
be easy
for me
to see?
Couldn’t he
visit me?

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