AGNOSTIC PARABLE—The Author Consoles Herself

Lee Landau



could stop me as sadness defined home,
the layers of oxygen
and this exception of
two women on TV walking on water,
garbed in monk’s robes.


Once lame, a small girl walks
to where a quarter moon’s
smile illuminates
her face for a more
captive audience craving prayer,
that weekly divine caught on camera.


God-benign trinity, who
still believes in miracles on bare feet before
us, accepts applause,


cat calls, and more
clapping–busy God has embraced this
stage left event, the act:


Coffered flood
of coins, faces crumpled like tissues
in my hand, clock-struck


and my sleep,
broken by a litany of grief. This is not
the hungry body’s


work, demanding nothing from those
who still believe in