by Cynthia Moon

The reverend told your mama God knows
the pain of losing a son. But God is doing alright,
sleeping soundly. Beside your body,
I held your mother and thought of Mary
on the ground, reaching, how she couldn’t
change a single law of gravity
to save her child’s life.

Oh these fools these holy men
identifying always with God –
with God who must go to his knees
for no one, God who has
begged for nothing.

Cynthia Moon’s poetry appears in Best New Poets 2022, minnesota review, DIAGRAM, Frontier Poetry, The Florida Review, and elsewhere. She is a therapist and lives with her beloved daughter and their dog in a small town near Lake Michigan. Cynthia was previously published under her former name, Cyndie Randall.