Where is God on the testimony floor?
Outside, in marble hallways. In the shoes
slipped on, behind the shouting on the news,
and in the voice of Christine Blasey Ford.
Unsure, of dates, perhaps, but not the stairs,
the little bedroom, Judge locking the door.
Where is God on the testimony floor?
In raised eyebrows, a curl of long blond hair.
I never pray to God unless I'm lost,
unless the silence, held fast, burns my throat.
What if, once cast away, the Judas goat
survived the boiling sun, the cracking frost,
and turned back on the sinners with a roar?
Where is God on the testimony floor?
This poem originally appeared on the Red Wedge Patreon page and will be appearing in our forthcoming sixth issue. To read exclusive content such as this early, and to receive a subscription to Red Wedge, become a supporter.
Margaret Corvid is a feminist, socialist, writer, sex worker rights activist, and Labour councilor for Drake Ward in Plymouth, UK.