And I am reciting in my head the Anne Sexton poem – the last one in her collection The Awful Rowing Toward God (1975). It’s the one called ‘The Rowing Endeth’. She sits down with God and . . . ‘On with it!’ He says and thus we squat on the rocks by the sea and play – can it be true – a game of poker. He calls me. I win because I hold a royal straight flush. He wins because He holds five aces A wild card had been announced but I had not heard it being in such a state of awe when He took out the cards and dealt. As He plunks down His five aces and I sit grinning at my royal flush, He starts to
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