Herring – a poem by Morrow Dowdle

Herring 


Sometimes when a door closes, God doesn’t 
open a window. Then you sledgehammer 
through all the drywall, and still, you may break 
through into total darkness. I thought God 
was laughing when my mother said, I won’t
be your mother. I couldn’t hear God say, 
I’ll mother you instead. God is rarely 
the evidence and often the obverse.
Remember this: Do not let anyone 
tell you what God is or how to find it.
I informed the therapist I couldn’t 
leave my lover because I’d never meet 
someone better. She smiled, and there was God, 
and swimming behind, a school of bright fish.
 

Morrow Dowdle is the author of the chapbook Hardly (Bottlecap Press, 2024). Their poems have been featured in Rattle, ONE ART, Pedestal Magazine, The Baltimore Review, and other literary journals. They have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and were a finalist for the 2024 Red Wheelbarrow Poetry Prize. They run a performance series which features historically marginalized voices. A creative writing MFA candidate at Spalding University, they live with their family in Durham, NC.