#4
#4 I’m an atheist, he says, but now I’m thinking maybe there is a God, maybe you are like the sea Moses parted— and he knocks open her legs, pauses, scratches his chin, says, but, there was a drought and the sea was perhaps a shallow lake the Israelites waded through. Maybe you are like the moon Mohammad split in half like a heart, he says, unbuttoning her red blouse, but how can a rock that orbits this earth be so neatly be carved? She stares at his naked chest, imagines kneeling among tall kowtowing waves like a centerfold Cleopatra shaking off water from her long wavy hair; or standing in thin silver silk on a moon that’s been split and now hangs like two breasts pressed against the dark body of a man— a black man with more muscles and faith, fewer words and no pauses in making love. 22 ...
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