Maybe everyone ends up meeting god, eventually, as vicissitudes pass, like it’s a standard part of education and of life, hasn’t it always been your mother and father, deciding the lesson plan, asking questions, about who you are, growing the only way you can, scattered seeds, the heavens love differences, sometimes, without a word, they turn up the heat, tepid water, starts to boil, moon in the sky, your father turns away, he doesn’t say, but he demands a sacrifice, the community gathers, the branches in the wind sway, their spirits commune, the wolves, the snakes, and the foxes, ready to consume, a ritual begins, boiling water, and beating drums, the stars watch, and they wait, for a flower to bloom…

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