I scraped the throat of heaven, clawing my way out; I scraped the dirt from the shower’s grout. I saw God on my way, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, like his son from the cross. I saw two women drinking liquor and stealing underwear from Ross. I dared to look him in his golden, all-forgiving eyes; I dared to watch YouTube on my phone and let it slowly die. “And oh, to all, to peace…” “Give me my charger, please.” “And oh, to all, to freedom…” “Seriously, before I tell Mom.” God and I shook hands as the sun collapsed in the sky; the salesman and I shook hands, and I suddenly had a car I didn’t want to buy. I stole all the pennies in the fountain to make just one more wish; the cashier at PetSmart looked me in the eyes and told me that grief drowns fish