god hands you a magic 8 ball

Illustration by Charlie Blodnieks

Illustration by Charlie Blodnieks

you shake it

it says signs point to no

a hole opens below you

you fall and fall and fall

you hit a ground

it looks like what you thought heaven would look like

lots of white people

all your shitty friends

the dudes on that soccer team

your grandmother

you think

you misread the ball

maybe you were flying that whole time


we’ve got it better up here

i promise

we’re naked all the time

every concrete sidewalk has hopscotch

that rain will never wash away

there are swings at every playground

god is three black women

they run a radio station called the good word

there are no commercials

but where you fell


get bored

the leaves can’t fall or change colors

it’s 55 degrees every day

you wonder why all the brown people

are somewhere else

we dance on clouds

and shit

every time someone asks how you doing

we say real good

there are no white people

to kick us out of places

if anyone tries to take our fingerprints

our hands will turn paper to flesh

and form a big black fist

also there are no white people

i met jesus last tuesday

he had dreads to the floor

they smelled like incense

we made up secret hand shake

i would show you
but its secret

you never met jesus

you live in four story house with your parents

it is peach

like all the other houses

we don’t have houses here

we beyond walls

you look

in the glove compartment

of your range rover

where you hid a small sheet of paper with the words

that appeared on the 8 ball years ago

but we don’t have to look

for anything

my grammy is here

she finally learned how to swim

and you

unfold the paper

start to cry

you spot a phone in the back seat


dial 1-800-INNOCENT

and raise the phone to your ear

like you’ve done many times

but this time

god picks up
you say