god, colorized

a man is asked to draw a bedroom and he draws a womb. slow and delicate and humming with sleep. it’s three in the morning and she is crawling back into her mother, sheets for sinew, darkness for darkness, while cigarette smoke in a tight dress dances to elton john outside the door. do tell, is it worth it to ask for something? god’s name crawls in her mouth like blood spilling from a split lip. acrid prayer in bedroom chapel. teenager watching the ceiling stars on scraped knees and forgetting god’s name. maybe it sounds something like a mother. like heels twirling to rocket man on the cracked linoleum. like early morning shifts and late night black coffees. like disappearing and forgetting to come back. she does not meet god. she never will. someone devoured him for breakfast years ago and took his only beating heart to the grave.