I broke one of my mother's figurines
when I was helping her move the
Christmas tree downstairs.

She glued it back together but it wasn't
quite the same. The visible cracks still
a reminder of what occurred.

She told me it was fine but I felt so bad that
I bought her the same one again so it
was as if the original had never broken.

Now she proudly displays the two side
by side and insists that the original
is her favorite.

The best kind of kiss
Is one that has been exchanged
a thousand times between eyes,
before the lips have even met.

I stopped believing in God
long ago.

When I was a boy,
my father would
scream and yell
at my sister
for her transgressions
and shortcomings
and I would
cradle a Bible
in my arms
in my room
and weep and pray
pleading for it
to stop.
I'm sure I made
some sort of
desperate offering
at some point;
a bargain of sorts
to take my soul
for hers.
Let it be me instead,
I'd pray.

All these years later,
my father and I
are estranged
and although I
no longer
believe in God
at times when I
find myself
backed into
a corner
I catch myself
praying again
throwing my pleas
in every direction
to any force that
will possibly
listen
and I begin to
wonder if a
prayer
actually can
be answered.

But I stopped believing in God
long ago.