There were always so many men. Well, boys,
anyway—Peter, for years, then Chris, then

Drew, another Peter, Mike, Andy, Sean,
Joe, and so on. The space beneath my bed

was piled high with diaries full of them.
When I stopped believing in one—or when

one had the audacity to begin
worshipping me back, the goal—the horror—

there was always another god waiting.
I went to synagogue and church with friends,

tried my best to get filled up with Spirit.
But even while there, hands folded in prayer,

my thoughts drifted to the lavender dress
I’d wear at school the next day, for him. Him.