Courtney Sender


Muhammad: who smuggled God

back in through security


- Keith S. Wilson


And what did he do with god,

once they’d gotten through together?

Sat him down at a McDonald’s,

ordered a large fries,

high-fived, or hugged, or kissed

Him on the cheek.


The god and prophet,

all-powerful, they love each other

now. They’ve managed another day

at each other’s sides.

They are free

today, they can fly anywhere.


I see them sitting at the back booth,

and I smile,

a Jewish girl on my way to Florida

for Nana’s funeral.


I want to tell them her god

died in Auschwitz.  I know how

often it is hard to love a god

who rings alarm bells at security.

To love a prophet who

enables the alarms.

And yet my Nana’s god got smuggled

down the gene pool:

I hold Her in my luggage;

together we buy them each

a neck pillow and hope

they hold out for the long haul.


But so often it is hard.

Often our secret desires make

their way into our baggage,

our poetry, the sermons

we want to write


those we ought to.


  Epigraph from "Prayer to the Small God of Misnomers," first published in Blueshift Journal.