I used to be convinced the small white globes
we found in the school playground
were dinosaur eggs. I must have buried
hundreds before autumn ended.
In October, I started going to church classes
after school. God lived in the basement. He told us
stories about his life. I liked listening to them
while doodling on desk, but it left
less time to tend to my triceratops patch.
I live abroad now. I still get emails from God
every few weeks. He attaches photos of Warsaw
streets ruined by giant lizards, with pointed captions.