Where was your god when my
grandmother, who loved and feared him
her entire life, lay in a hospital bed
suffering for the last years of her too short life?
Where was your god when I
prayed every night and day for my
father to get sober and for my parents
to stay together?
Where was your god when my
mother struggled to work three jobs and
care for and love her four children on her own
while she continued to go to mass every Sunday?
Where was your god when my
eight year old cousin and best friend
was ripped from existence before I
even understood what life and death are?
Do not tell me that god works in
mysterious and wondrous ways.
There is nothing mysterious or wondrous
about fighting to live every single day
alcoholism that consumes relationships,
a struggling mother doing her best on her own,
or a too short life that should be in the same place I am now.
So do not speak to me of a god who was
never there.