You thought she saw your god the other night.
Her quick step, the tilt of her upturned face—
Something gave away a sinister trace
of knowledge she shouldn’t own. You don’t show
that you saw that she saw. You watch the light
bounce off her glasses, reach for her soft hand.
Never let on that you’ve seen through her plans—
They’re already in motion, still unknown
even to her. Unsure why you kept that god
so secret. Hidden from priests, from long nuns.
You’re almost glad someone else finally sees
exactly what your idol is. Her nod,
a squeeze on your palm says something’s begun
that may not end, fragile as last night’s breeze.

Mark J. Mitchell was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collection, Roshi San Francisco, was published by Norfolk Publishing. Starting from Tu Fu was published by Encircle Publications.
He is fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the activist. Joan Juster where he made his living pointing out pretty things. Now, like everyone else, he’s unemployed.
He has published 2 novels and three chapbooks and two full length collections so far. Titles on request.

A primitive web site now exists: https://mark-j-mitchell.square.site/

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