The Making of an Atheist
She stared out her
living room window
lost to the world
she knew and loved, three
hours later she
returned from the farthest
regions of her mind
where the great void
swallowed her whole,
and she gave the rest
of her life to helping
others, founding a home
for unwed mothers
and an AIDS hospice for
gays among many other
charitable causes,
and all because a
drunken driver had run
over her golden boy.
She went to church and
knelt for hours
begging God to tell her why
her twenty-year old son
had to die, but God
did not respond and
she walked away with
her unyielding pride
leaving her simple faith
that she had
inherited from her caring mother
and philandering father
who had abandoned
her when she was
twelve behind her. “Saint
Joan,” they called
her, for all her good works,
and they named a
street after her when
she died of inoperable
cancer.
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