oh god of this
by E.B. Schnepp
specific wine glass, the smallest
shrine, oh god who ferments
to wine even when offered
only water. oh god of the coin
toss, the magic 8 ball, who always ends
inconclusive, on its side or ask
tomorrow, respectively. oh god
who does not say make yourself smaller,
but make this smaller. for you
I willingly fetal myself to hear you better.
the quiet under this comforter is nice
this time of year, the midwest exhausting itself
as it screams its way through winter. I say
I could live here forever and you say no
you can’t, you’ll have to get up to pee
eventually, go about your human life
and I flip you off and you laugh, echoing
from every kitchen cupboard. a raucous clatter
of dishes and faux wood doors.
E.B. Schnepp is a poet currently residing in Illinois. Their work has been featured in Poetry Daily and can be found in Gulf Coast, Mid-American Review, and American Literary Review among others. Their chapbook, Blueberries Stain Like Blood, is available from Bottlecap Press.