a god who grants blue bicycles

i would make a terrible god
because i'm bad at saying 'no'--
i would give people 
whatever they prayed
for (not because
i thought they needed it)
but  because i'm bad at saying 'no'.
with as god no one would ever die &
the rain would stop & start without
warning & sometimes a night
would burn longer than the moon--
there was a boy at children's mass
who said he was praying
really hard for a blue bicycle--
we all used to walk 
two-by-two to the rectory 
during the homily-- our
children's crusade-- an exodus
from the big warm belly of
the church-- 
i used to sit
on the grey carpet
& wonder what the adults
did in the big church without
all the children--
i imagined them pretending
to crucify different people
each week-- a role playing procession
around the church-- i could see
the priest painting on
stigmata on the hands & feet of 
our parents--
today the thought is absurd to me
but it troubled me from
the back of the children's group
where i thought mostly about 
eating doughnuts in the gathering
area after mass--
we were learning about how to pray
& the blue bicycle boy
didn't seem to get it--
he kept saying that he was praying
for a new bicycle--
a bright blue bicycle but it
never ever came--
i imagined a shiny two-wheeler
waiting on his porch--
a silver bow around it's handle bars
& a tag would read
to bicycle boy from god
shut up & stop praying for
the bicycle-- i heard you already--

our nun tried to be patient
you shouldn't pray for things
like toys
she said & she added
unless you pray for them for
other people

the boy nodded 
i'll pray for one for everyone

i didn't raise my hand to
say anything as we
talked more about praying
even though 
i usually liked to have the right
answer-- 
i didn't have any right
answers about praying--

i prayed like someone
would count the rotation
of a bicycle tire around
its orbit-- a spoken
memory of our mother's
mother's mother's 
rosary beads that smell
like roses because they're
made of roses-- there was a cross
on the wall in my bed room
i would hold to pray the our father
when i was scared of ghosts--

i told the bicycle boy
on the walk back to the main church
that my mom's friend was dying
& the when i prayed it didn't help

he told me the story again 
about the blue bicycle & how
he wondered how god would
bring it to him--

i told him my mom's friend was
dying & how i wondered if
my praying was making him sicker

& he told me the god would leave
the bicycle 
on the back porch next to the recycling
while we were all asleep

we didn't say anything else

i imagined god as an old man at a wall
of ringing telephones-- each with another
glory be or hail mary--
a penance--
a prayer for a dying friend--
a mouth full of incense & rose petals--
i would walk down the line & cut
the wires of the phones--
no more prayers for this god-- 
the answer is always yes--

save your friends from dying 
for once & eat jelly doughnuts
in the gathering area every morning--
walk two-by-two while our
parents reenact their own 
crucifixions--
& there is a blue bicycle
on the back porch
& there is a blue bicycle
on the back porch  
with a silver bow & the faint
smell of roses--