Confession

If I were angry at God
it might be about something 
as vast as brain cancer 
or as modest as my own father’s
more benign suffering. 

It might have something to do
with the brutal way we raise animals
for food, or how winter 
always descends too soon.

It might be a comment 
on my own shame, the pain
of harsh words that spill over
from fatigue and how hard it is
to be a truly good parent.

Or maybe I’d just be mad
at the rising price of coffee,
the common desolation of holidays, 
and the stubborn existence 
of mosquitos and mass shooting events.