God
I knew God once. I swore I’d remember. He had bronze skin and and black hair and a piercing stare that terrified me. He loved my hazel ojitos bonitos and the fact that I was a foreigner. So many photos we sent back and forth that are stored only in my memory. Of God’s grandfather’s grave, the children he taught, and the day when he walked for hours without any money, swearing to make his dreams come true. The matchsticks with “Te amo” carved into them that I burned up a long time ago, after I stopped loving. I see you in my soup. I was there with you on that bus, from the capital city to the mountain town. Maybe I was only dreaming. I would make you a flower crown, the most beautiful thing anyone has ever told you. More beautiful than the words “I do.” How funny it is when love turns to acceptance. How passion turns to reminiscence. When God touched her, when he kissed my cheek, whom did he feel he was betraying? Something tells me that you resigned yourself to a...