Poems for People Who Don’t Like Poetry #14

my god
is not sitting inside a church
or waiting above the temple’s steps
my god
is the refugee’s breath as she’s running
is living in the starving child’s belly
is the heartbeat of the protest
my god
does not rest between pages
written by holy men
my god
lives between the sweaty thighs
of women’s bodies sold for money
was last seen washing the homeless
man’s feet
my god
is not as unreachable as
they’d like you to think
my god is beating inside us infinitely

-Rupi Kaur, The Sun and Her Flowers