portion of the artwork for Neil de la Flor and Maureen Seaton's poem

Neil de la Flor and Maureen Seaton

(The following thoughts and opinions concerning God are solely those of the authors and may or may not reflect those of other individuals involved with the South Florida Deep Tanning Organization for Social and Scientific Pursuits. We don’t care how you come to experience God, we merely encourage you to lay out in his presence.)

God is a good ol’ fellow, a shallow grave for some. For others he’s just a burnt bridge. For us, well, we simply believe he or she is a weatherperson or the guy that checks our water usage at the end of the month.


        1.    There was a clanking of milk bottles at the back door. It was the fifties when milk was pure white with a disturbing plug of cream on top and ladies wore dresses to vacuum. God wore a uniform and he looked fabulous.

        2.    Four horses on the beach, lightning strikes them all.

        3.    Someone is torn asunder and we don’t recognize him or her until we see the tattoo on a wingbone that says Property of Heaven.

Heaven is always tricky. Some say there are no men in heaven. (See what we mean?)

God himself rarely speaks of heaven. It would be like a drop of milk speaking from a bucket of milk.

If God had a partner, a Hectorish kind of fellow, or say Hector was God, would it be right to violate his parking privileges? Zoom around on his vacuum and wreak havoc onboard international flights?

Conjecture as we might, it’s all such tenderness.

        4.    I like to walk down to the river and sit across from the ruins. This week the river was trying to get into my shoes. First I laughed and then I ran back toward the barbed wire.

        5.    I ran into mice running from cats running from dogs. Starbucks was closed on Sunday for renovation and discourse. God ran out of coffee and cream.

        6.    I knew that was wrong, that somewhere there must be an inexhaustible supply of coffee beans for God, in some vault next to crisp bills with bald eagles who have gone all cramped and hoarse and blind from the dark.

Four horses on a beach gallop toward the shore. Horse One whinnies while the other three vanish into the horizon. The preceding thoughts concern the problem of glare and trajectory—the godless line between two points that converge into one in the distance. In retrospect, God is tan.

Once upon a time he was born in a desert, his jaw was manly, his eyes the color of yin.

Once upon the other time she was born again, a yawn of a deity, petite as a house.

On the seventh day they made frosting.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 29 | Summer 2010