I seek no god who withholds salvation

but I need my Mother to call him my boyfriend
and accept he will sleep in my bed.
I seek no god who withholds salvation,
but when She turns to me at the dinner table
to calmly ask when my friend is coming
I see Her again cutting vegetables on Easter
morning, after mass. I hear the sound of the knife
stopping for a second, the carrot unharmed, as
I say jesus christ I am Gay I like men she is not
my girlfriend all in one breath, punctuationless,
and then the blade falls again on the neck of the carrot.
I seek no god who withholds salvation,
but I wonder if cutting the carrot was an answer
or the sign I cannot stop the unwavering passage of time.
I can command the flow of the house with three words –
for just a breath the flame of the stovetop stays still –
but when She reminds me who holds the hilt
the smell of gas laughs in my face and the flame dances again.