Awe

The stickers on the lamp posts that don’t go away. That is God. Embedded in my scalp under my hair where I can not see, there is God. God, in the handshakes from a rough right hand, that make my fingertips want to pop, that the security guard from the school I don’t go to gives me. And in the newspaper that my mother leaves face down so my sibling can’t see the pictures is God. When I keep my legs crossed and they get confused and feel like glitter is God. And the two broken chairs left on the street for you and me is God. God was in Uncle Borach who my father said made sauerkraut in the closet. The repetition of bouncing my leg that is serenity and that is me and that is God.