After Years of Trying, I Finally Turn to God

Foreplay these days starts with a calendar
my husband whips out each night before bed.
What To Expect When You Are Expecting lies
on my nightstand, not quite a bible, but close,
mocking us while we compare sex schedules
for the coming days. If I had a penny for every
time I was told as a teen that one-night stands
could leave me with a fetus I didn’t want—
that all it takes is a few minutes in a dark room
and a little mood music like John Mayer
or Marvin Gaye—I’d be weighed down
with hope, able to afford as many frozen eggs
and IVF attempts as I damn well pleased.
Instead, I am spent. After years of trying
and countless consultations with sexperts
and therapists I finally turn to god, whatever
that means. I hurl my thoughts toward
the higher power, the thing responsible
for venus and mars and the milky way,
the unnamed energy behind the black hole
and big bang. Having faith can be lonely
sometimes. But here, somewhere in this space
between giving up and letting go and
forging ahead and heading to bed,
is heaven.