If God Comes Back, I’m a Goner!
Kale Hensley
If God Comes Back, I’m a Goner!
What if I can’t help but stand like a lamp–let my tongue hang far,
hang low, get mistaken for a chain. But I can be a beg too, pulled
too far, oh how I will comply for my God in shatter, in spectral–
watch: pieces of me will cut bare feet and glitter the concrete!
What if a kingdom came hard like candy? What if I were called in
for a beating but not like you’d expect. God works in waves of
spit, like all men, he wants to know if you’re easy to digest.
Wants to know if, like hair, you are best loved by hands. So, what is there
for a girl to do but bite, to chew, to see how the labyrinth tastes as
as seconds. And God, like a god, always has a plan, always keeps
his tongue so close to my throat as if to say this is where the first
cut will be made, as if to say how bad do you want that new name?
September 2025
If God Comes Back I’m a Goner
I can’t help but stand
like a lamp; this tongue
hangs far too low, tends
to get mistaken for chain
or a beg to be pulled too
far. And oh, how I comply
spectral, in shatter: this
little light o’ mine will cut
your feet, glitter concrete.
Finally, a kingdom coming
hard as candy. Finally, my
turn for a beating. It arrives
in waves of spit, he discovers
that I am not the digestible,
that like hair I am best loved
by hands. But I hunger, too.
I take the biggest bite I can,
as if the secret to seconds,
to solve this labyrinth. And
God, like a god, always has
other plans and a tongue so
close to my throat, as if to
say this is where the first cut
will be made, as if to say I
where, shall I give you, my name?
June 2025
If God Comes Back, I’m a Goner
Because I stand like a lamp,
my tongue hangs so low
it swings, gets mistaken
for a chain.
If someone were to pull it,
this little light of mine
would comply but shatter.
Pieces of me
would cut bare feet and glitter
the concrete, heaven on this
earth, my kingdom comes
hard like candy.
The beatings come in waves
of spit, I am a hair curling
out of his mouth, draped
around the fingers.
A bite of his large hand, one
of us has to make room for
seconds. Before I get to solve
the labyrinth, God
closes his palm,
points to the center
of my throat and says this
is where the first cut will be made.
April 2018
Process Statement
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Kale Hensley is a poet and visual artist from West Virginia. Her work appears in Gulf Coast, Booth, Epiphany: a literary magazine, and Evergreen Review. She lives in Texas with her wife and a menagerie of clingy pets. Find more of her writing at kalehens.com.