I don’t know how to thank God for it,
But I know that eventually, I’ll thank God for it, you know?
I mean, with a little perspective, we always see that things--
They have their shape
But…everything? Her friend asked, interrupting
Unable to believe the sentimentality
I mean, Auschwitz? I think you’re forgetting
Like that Russian, Ivan, that--
Always forget, starts with a D—
What about the children?
I know, but yes, everything, or none of it has mercy in it
It’s all or nothing, right?
But the thing is, the only thing that makes anything make sense
Is God suffering with it
With all of it
That’s why you can thank God
Not because the horrible is somehow beautiful
But because he flips it all over like a dirty mat that’s clean on the other side
And he’s already been dragged through the dirt and mud of it
Her friend murmured, stirring her coffee, unconvinced
The warm all about them broken into pieces by the wind
Anyway…how was your day?