A Day in the Life

God is dictating a letter to his attorney 
informing his daughter 
through said attorney 
that he and his wife 
who isn’t the daughter’s mother 
because God is divorced and remarried to said second wife 
who has a first name, 
at least she did before she married him, 
but God, through another attorney 
forced her to change her first name to 
Harold’s wife/AKA my wife/AKA his wife. 


God and his wife 
are cutting said daughter 
off from her inheritance. 


That’s what the letter says 
that God’s attorney will send 
to God’s daughter, 
in one of those envelopes 
with a green postcard attached. 


Because God’s daughter is God’s daughter, 
she is also God, 
and omniscient, 
so sending the letter is unnecessary. 


Somewhere out there is God, who I think, will never be a nun. 


God is yelling at her daughter in the middle of Food Town. 
God’s daughter has Down Syndrome and she’s adorable. 
But she’s not adorable because she has Down Syndrome. 
She is adorable and happens to have Down Syndrome. 
Everyone stares at God with disgust because she yelled at her
daughter, but not because her daughter has Down Syndrome but
because no one should yell at their daughter that way,
especially not God, but okay, maybe they think that if the girl 
has Down Syndrome, she should get a fucking break, and that
maybe God shouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place. Or
give the kid up for adoption if you can’t handle it. 


The dirty looks make God lash out, because who the hell are they
to judge God, these people with nothing but corn syrup and empty
carbs in their shopping carts? 


Because the little girl with Down Syndrome is God’s daughter, 
she is also God, 
and all-powerful, 
And she just laughed. 


God is doing a wheelie in the middle of traffic. 
Who is he showing off for? 
Hit one pebble and your fucking head is busted open. 

God is wiping down subway cars at the Coney Island terminus. He
can smell the salt air from the platform so it’s sort of
pleasant but also sort of painful to be here wiping down shit
stains and vomit while everyone who rode this car is having fun
á la plage. He got this job from his cousin, who is also
working today, so in between wipe downs they sit in the empty
train for the air conditioning and talk. 


His cousin is twenty years older so she doesn’t feel like a
cousin, more like an aunt. God thinks maybe the language should
open up a little so that you can use the word that makes sense
even if it’s not technically true, or that language should be
based on reality rather than arbitrary rules. So if your cousin
feels like an aunt, she’s your titi. If your mother never stops
being a victim even when she’s sixty, she’s a child. And if your
father cuts you off from your inheritance after all the shit you
took from him, he’s an asshole. 


God is two girls racing up the stairs without their parents. 


God is a late credit card payment and the landlord who acts like
they’re doing you a favor by letting you live there. 
God is the evil empire and the woman who shakes her fist in
God is safe and effective. 
God was and ever will be. 
God is breaking my heart. 


In a world where everyone is God, lawyers are still the devil.
Just kidding, even God loves a good lawyer joke. 


Even though she doesn’t like to admit it, sometimes God’s
daughter hopes God will drop dead before that can be
finalized. It’s not very Godly of her. Or is it? 

God is mass genocide 
God is ungodly 
God is an obscenity 
God is love 
God is too good to be true but God is anyway 


God is 

God is 

God is. 


Jennifer Fisher is a writer, actress, teacher of English, and torch song dancer. Her favorite theater influences include Michael Chekhov, his uncle Anton, Eric Morris and anything relating to movement. Her favorite roles have been Susan in Race and Sarah Bernhardt. Favorite charities include restoring the trees of Africa (greenbeltmovement.org) and saving rare frogs in Peru (amphibianrescue.org). She recently became a documentary film maker: Once Upon A Saturday looks at a Brooklyn-based fairytale writing workshop for childcare workers. Jennifer is not afraid to end a sentence with a preposition.


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