Matthews is a stout brown man
He looks a little lost outside my door
But I’m in a really great mood
And I just wanna shoot the shit
So I wave him in
“Come on in!” I yell
As if this is my fucking house
It is my house now
He shuffles in and looks hastily around
For a chair to pull up
I scoot over on my little couch
And gesture for him to sit next to me
He takes a seat and introduces himself
I shake his hand
He asks me
“How do you know god?”
I smile and tell him that my god is in the trees
“I will see my god when I get home
When I see the rain on the grass”
My eyes go slick
At the thought of kneeling down in my yard
Breathing in the cold, wet dirt
He smiles and talks about the seasons
“Even as the leaves are dying, their beauty is for all to behold.”
I smile in retort
“Even as the leaves die, they give their last nutrients to the ground below.
They do not know their certain death but prepare their bounty for the ground below.
That is my god.
And Karma.”
His eyes flash wide, and he tells me about his homeland of India’s understanding of Karma.
I nod and smile
And tell him my grandfather Mouhammad Fayed
From Pakistan
“From Karachi,” I slip
Came to America and brought West his karma
“Your mother’s father?” His eyes narrowed to mine
“Where is your mother now?”
A hole bottoms out in my gut
Matt asks to pray for me
And I clasp his hand
We sit with our heads bowed
He prays for all my sadness to go away
And my fears
And my joy to ascend
I cannot recall a time I made such wishes
Kathlyn Ramsey Moore 