Reclining in Chair
When it comes to God, for me,
it’s all up in the air. I mean,
not saying there is one,
or that I believe,
(but if there was,
and I did,)
mine is an overzealous orthodontist asking
about my day over twangs of late-2000s
country radio only to yank my
mouth into neat rows
when I try to speak.
You know how to shut up, He says
and it’s a compliment. And I’m minty alright
just a pound of fresh flesh, a leaf plucked
right off the bush. My breath makes frost.
I sit prim as a rosebud
opening and closing for Him hoping
for travel-sized toothpaste or
a sugar-free lollipop.
He lets me rinse the blood out of my little cemetery.
He gives me floss
says He can’t scrub out
all the grime
says it takes hard work
to keep being clean.
By Shirley Wang
Shirley Wang is eighteen years old and a graduated high school senior located in Northern California. She is a 2019 YoungArts winner in Short Story and her work has been featured in Vagabond City and Peach Mag. She believes in being unabashed in learning, creating, and caring.