God is giving a graduation speech. He is clutching a decoupage tissue box. When God cries, 18th century goats scale the cliffside of his throat. I feel sorry for God until everyone else does. I am not unlike God, though I doubt we could ever be friends. He does not pride himself on his dearth of Confucian wisdom, which he disguises by alluding vaguely to Dionysus. God figures, as long as it ends with an –us. God is not fooling anybody. Everyone wants to go to prom with God. Upon observing God, I first think iron focus!, then community service. God and I both know the question on everyone’s mind. When he was young, God would not even touch a plate of chicken nuggets, and now, look at these peaks and valleys, the stubborn color scheme of sky, those mysterious Eskimos, all the unintelligibly foreign maps.
Olivia Valdes is reading your mind, and also The Facts of Winter, written by Paul Poissel and translated by Paul LaFarge.