She was black.
A salvation army nun,
and I was just me,
though richer than
usual,
waiting
for my connection
to take me to heaven
to my version of God.
She asked and I gave.
“You are a good man”
she told me.
“God will not forget you.”
“God is dead.” I replied.'
“..and you don’t need
Nietzsche or the 12 o’clock
news to tell you that”
“I pray He will
forgive you your
blasphemy.”
she answered.
“So do I.”
I replied.
'So do I'
We both smiled
knowingly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem