Julie, or Kate. Maybe
Joan — I can’t remember
the name of the singer
on the radio right now.

Once I could. I had a memory
close to God’s, if I can
speak of that — I promise you,
I whisper it in my head

so God won’t hear me if
in fact God is listening, which
I sincerely doubt based on
God’s inattention to various

disasters here in the moment:
marchers in our streets
confronted by sneering cretins;
the climate slowly bubbling;

inequality and poverty
endemic — who am I kidding?
God isn’t made for that. God
eats our offerings and

burps them up without a care
for the world. Julie
or Kate or even Joan don’t
matter to him, or to me.

What matters to me now
is the simple fact of living —
hanging on to moments
of peace, holding on to grace.

I listen to the radio hoping
for one moment where
it does not matter one bit
who I hear or if I can choose

one singer or another
to pin the voice on. Julie
or Kate or Joan can go forth
singing forever and a day

will come for them as it comes
for me and no one will care
amid the tumult of war
and famine, in the middle

of peace and freedom
and lack of want. No one
will care for more than
their own voice and the hope

that it will be heard.
As for me and God,
we will have their backs.
We will have them at heart

as we listen to them
and if God forgets,
I will not until I go.
Julie, Kate, Joan — I swear

I remain with you,
you have me, you have got me,
I’m your man, your biggest fan,
I will stay true, even when

you stop singing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T