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Juliet walks along
the storefronts and
checks herself out in the glass.
The barest glint of her bobs
amid the chiaroscuro of mannequin heads
and stilted arms, a giant Barbie choir
dumbstruck at the gates of the big beyond.
Not that she was one of those
who drifted off every night
assuming God sat serenely by,
thumbing a pencil, crossword folded,
on call for resuscitation.
More likely God lurked somewhere
tossed out of mind like
the line in the woman’s room
where everyone looms in the mirror
but as usual no one looks but Juliet.
And there would be God, washing up.
God would catch her eye with the sly grin of
someone she had known all along.
Juliet pauses on the sidewalk
and frets for an instance
at her moonish self, stalled
in her journey to redemption.
Then it would be as if she had never
not known God.
As she turns the corner,
she decides that
that would be quite a shame.
Copyright © Nancy Everett Taylor
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