The Will of God

i find st mejella on the back gravel road
where the neighbors leave

out cantaloupe rinds for the foxes
& where the black beetles leak from soil.

he prays into the corn, shucking
ears & hoping to come upon an infant 

inside one. patron to the unborn, i wanted
to ask him if he guards my body

each time i buy pregnancy tests
& wait for the single line telling me

that i'm empty. i draw single lines in
the dirt. i ask him if i swallow 

the peach pits & strawberry freckles
& apple seeds if anyone of them will curl 

up inside me & become human. sinews 
& stems. i used to be so scared of it,

swallowing cum & feeling it thrash like
minnows in my throat, the fish assembling 

into a body. i spit children into napkins.
st majella, finding the raw corn,

touching the kernels till they become
fingers. i ask what he does now that

he's left heaven & he says he's been
planting seeds. he remembers my mother,

her blood clotting like bubblegum 
when she was pregnant with my brother,

the syringes that huddled in her 
closet like a choir; a medical song. 

he once revived a boy who fell
from the side of a cliff, yes 

miracle that was me, the stone inside 
without a heartbeat. a boy in me with a 

womb around him, a husk. boil us
tonight in the heat of the moon.

he says that this is all the will of god.
my brother & my mother & the organs that 

grew in me like melon. i slice my stomach 
i feed the foxes, he sings.