God Online
- Mar 28, 2025
- 2 min read
by Suze Kay
is also lost. He stumbles on an english garden, likes the ramble rose. He also likes that darker bloom of gun smoke in his name. He damns a woman who killed her child but first He said yes when she read proverbs 23:13. it’s all for Him, He thinks. His algorithm makes it so. it shows Him a french horse nosing into hospice rooms, a crying man whose wife will die. what the hell, He thinks, tosses $5 to their fundraiser, does the same for cats enferaled by war — what more could He do? He knows it’s the little things. He forgot about sea monkeys until He found a girl raising millions from a penthouse in dubai. He’s tickled by yeast rising rounded boules on a sunlit windowsill, the micro mirror of the jeweler pounding tiny diamonds into a ring to the dust-wracked minors pounding out more. He sees it all. you’re a pussy says a muscled man, but another says it’s manly to cry and He believes them both. There’s space in Him for all of it: rooms of boxed snakes, knives splitting tangerines on trees, fireworks and the dogs who run from them.
when did you want to schedule the reboot? asks michael and God tells him to fuck off, not until south park is done at least, not until the woman in west virginia figures out what happened to her mother on a snowy road in 1974, not until the wedding of the century has happened, and He hasn’t seen that yet. but You’ve
been saying soon for millennia, michael bitches, and just look
at what they’ve done to the reefs. oh, He wishes michael would quit it with the reefs business. He knows He hasn’t made much recently but it’s kind of all been done, you know? the light, the roots, the things He set to crawling through it. better to let it all play out as He intended. He wants more roses. He wants more livestreamed bombings, bid day fit checks, prophets in His name.
over dinner God’s wife asks Him what He did today and nods when He says research. He shows her a ring camera compilation of a package thief in dallas. back in my day, He grouses, they’d
cut off both his hands. she looks confused. but isn’t it always
Your day? she asks. He feels the itch again to throw her down there like He threw their son once, to teach a lesson, to get things moving but He likes too much that she doesn’t exist yet, not to them. some thingsyou’ve got to keep to yourself, an influencer sobs into her camera. she’s giving it all to Him. she’s asking Him why?
amen, comments God, switching apps.
Suze Kay is a pastry chef in New Jersey. Her poetry has been published in HAD, The Hooghly Review, Acropolis Journal, and more. She’s happy you found her here and hopes you’ll keep up with her on Twitter @suz_chef or Bluesky @suzchef.bsky.social.
