I take myself out to dinner
and God is sitting at the table next to me
letting me eavesdrop on her 

She talks about age
untying urgency from love
a circular table she sits at the head of 

God keeps a sabbath of crab season and 
tithes fishing lures 
her hair is gray 
she listens to pop music
everyone in this restaurant adores her 

I am sure she knows me in the future 
I am sure she knows me when I am ten years old
and everyone I know is still alive 

I am not a religious woman 
but God am I built for it 
full of emotion and belief 
the seat across the dinner table empty 

Annika Bratton is a poet living on the southern Oregon coast. She likes big feelings, bodies of water, and good words. Her work can be found in Rat’s Ass Review, Kelp Journal, Hellbender Magazine, Liminal Spaces, and Drunk Monkeys.