Bodega | Behind God's Back

Behind God's Back

You once liked touching.

Neighbors sift
through the trash

Roaches party
in my cabinets

The end of the world
always feels like this

Where are you now
barefoot
reading Henry Miller

Crying in the cafe
I apologized
to the stranger

Where are you stealing internet?

Not calling hospitals

I have your release papers
test strips
Narcan

You were the body—
Out the door

The moon might not be here
tomorrow

If Heaven exists,
of course it’s Ascension

Far, far away
Behind God’s back.

Julia Laxer is a first-generation Hungarian-American writer, poet, and performance artist living in Portland, Oregon. She received the Orlando Prize in 2014 for a lyrical essay, and her poems are found in journals including Luna Luna Magazine, The Los Angeles Review, So-to-Speak, The Thought Erotic, Pom Pom, Zócalo Public Square, and Yes, Poetry. She works best on a deadline and dreams of living beside the sea.

125 – April 2023

By Julia Laxer

Behind God's Back