Shrine

Filling the bathtub with lemons, 
we discussed how to greet a god. 
My brother says you should come
with a camera & a bowl of sugar.
I suggest sunglasses & a thimble 
of honey. Once, an angel mistook me
for someone else. Fed me holy bread
in the dark of his bedroom. Turning
his light on & viewing me he said
“My mistake I’m so sorry.” 
Rice on the windowsills & shoes 
stuffed with berries. A candle 
made of syrup. Planting a tree
in the middle of the altar & hanging 
a bird feeder. He might be winged or
maybe the sky was a last resort.
I was so young. I drew pictures
of the angel in crayon & pinned thrm
to my mother’s back. Can someone hold
what they cannot see? Handfuls of grapes.
Stuffing our mouths with pins.
Devotion is an exercise for only
true believers. Picking leaves off
the thick & rusty moon. Cutting off
swings of my hair. The game is we are 
unsure what he could possibly desire.
Leaving the fridge door open, heaven 
gleams in the white glow. Sink filled 
with corn. A mid-air fish waiting 
to submerge again. This is me 
in the fatherland. My shoes sling 
themselves over a tree branch.
There never enough to give him.