Infinity Soup

-Cameron Weber

Last Tuesday, I spoke to God and he doesn’t recognize me anymore.

I cut off my hair.

Golden,

No, purple strands hit the floor then fly into the sun.

I tell my Mom empathy is a drug.

I choke on the smoke coiling around my throat; she understands.

Teeth the color of rotten milk smile at me from the mirror.

I tell my Dad I’m changing my name.

He

turns the newspaper page.

I kick a rock down the street, my neighbors think I’m going to hell.

I am going to the grocery store. Fluorescent lights cast no shadows here.

My sister started school, her eyes are more hollow than before.

I know the look well.

But

the world spins or topples;

Depends who you ask.

And I spoke to God last Tuesday, and I don’t recognize him anymore.