Post-Break-Up With God

Emily M. Goldsmith

When you finally leave, you jump at every noise.
You’re worried he’ll find you and make you suffer.
He said, “you’ll never do anything without me,
you won’t succeed. You can’t make it on your own.”

You find a house and a job. Each day he doesn’t
come for you, you breathe a little better. He said,
“You don’t know your own mind but, I do.” You
believed that for a very long time. But, not anymore.

A street preacher yells, “that skirt will send you to hell.”
Your stomach flops. God used to pick out all your clothes.
You realize that he’s let you go. You don’t ask why.
Every time you wear a crop top, you feel a rush.

You get rid of all his shit and install an alarm.
Putting the kettle on, you dance with the steam whistle.