ʂƙყ ɖαԃԃყ

They told us he watches
from above. I imagine him,
with binoculars, peering
down through clouds,
through my leaky

sash windows. They told us
God is love, but love
in my experience, is more
like a landlord, quick to cash
a cheque, slow to fix a leak.

And yes, you still sweep
the steps before he visits,
just in case. My boyfriend
told me he believed in God
because he’d been lucky

all his life, smiled like
he’d just won the parish raffle,
where the grand prize
was a TV, just small enough
to fit on your nightstand.

I go to Mass sometimes
just to see if he’ll show.
The priest lifts the chalice,
rings the bells and everyone’s
eyes are down, as if the floor

might split in two.
When the priest
touches my tongue,
I’m supposed to believe
it’s the body of someone

I’ve never met, but somehow
knows all my pretty sins
like skipping dinner on
Wednesdays and butchering
songs during choir practice.

Ginny Darke is a Welsh poet based in Bristol, England. Her writing has been published with The Stinging Fly, Tenement Press, WORMS and Basket Magazine, amongst others. She was shortlisted for the Poetry Wales Award 2024-25 and was a Foyle Young Poet.