This spring, my faith was fleeting as
I saw people holding signs and scripture
saying God is Love.
Patriots proudly professing
Jesus Christ would save our souls,
if we just believed,
and they actually believed it.
Who the fuck were they
to try to save my sinning soul?
I used to have blind faith.
For years I didn’t understand
her agnostic point of view.
Until last Christmas, when twice
we sat on a child size bed
a blonde and a brunette
splitting a pack
of our parent’s brand of cigarettes—
discussing the history of the world
and the history of us.
Once, when she was twelve,
she told me in the middle of the night
that she didn’t believe in God anymore.
She cried, for hours
inconsolable. I didn’t know what to say.
So I said nothing.
I didn’t know then that a decade later
Sitting, again, on that same child’s bed
that I, too, may not believe.