Thursday, 12:21 p.m. When I was a teenager, one of the brothers who taught at my Catholic school actually came to my house because he was worried how much I was drinking. We took a walk on the levee and watched the cargo ships drifting up river, then he told me it was okay to be angry at God; God can take it. * My God, I worry You’ve made a world where one mistake will cost me everything and to trust You is to provoke disaster, but here I am, hiding in Your great shadow. Today, for a moment, I flew high above the old anger, as if pulled by a team of small, drab birds, their hearts bursting to lift me off the ground. I wanted to take everything back, make my mind another sort of storm, and give it to You.
Justin Lacour lives in New Orleans and edits Trampoline: A Journal of Poetry.
Amethyst Review 