Just Have Faith

The Baptist preacher
at my stepfather’s church
in downstate Illinois
claimed we should trust in God
like we trust a chair to hold us.

We don’t know
if the chair will break,
but we have confidence in its stability
and relax with complete assurance.

His metaphor sounded glib,
yet compelling. At seventeen,

I had already learned
to take nothing at face value.
My life lurched like
an early Wright Brothers plane,

and my stepfather’s sanity was
flimsier than sawdust. Perhaps faith
would inspire him to quit drinking
and beating his four children.

A few days later,
during the evening shift
at my soft-serve ice cream job,
I perched on a metal folding chair
and pondered the minister’s words.

Was I capable of faith?
Was such childlike devotion
desirable? Could I let
my vigilance off its leash,
even for a few minutes?

The weight of my thoughts
grew so heavy that the
metal chair legs gave way,
and I tumbled to the floor.

My seat had split into
three separate pieces:
Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost.
None of them had my back,
or my ass, for that matter.

I’m not sure if this incident
was proof of God’s existence,
or the exact opposite.

Broken, Again

Breakthrough.
Breakout.
Breakdown.
Breakneck.
Breakfast.

So much to break.

This morning,
I ate a large breakfast
and forgot what it was.

I planned a breakthrough
but had a breakdown instead.

My mind staged a breakout,
hurtling forward
at breakneck speed
and leaving
my body behind.

Now, all I have
are empty shards
where matter
used to be.

67

I won’t Instagram my ass
for social media, because
that ship has sailed,
but I will brag about
my 14,000-step count.

Staying perpendicular
has become
a major achievement.
Medical professionals

ask if I have fallen
recently, and whether
I take medications.

So far, I can answer
no to both questions
and hell yes to self-medication,

whatever helps to
keeps me upright
for a little while longer.
I am not as lucky as some,
but more favored than others.

We head towards the same
destination, Decades of
grace and damage. In the end,
we fall into the same ditch.
In the end, it is all ripped away.  





Leah Mueller‘s work is published in Rattle, Best Small Fictions, Certain Age, Writers Resist, The Shallot, NonBinary Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, New Flash Fiction Review, Does It Have Pockets, Outlook Springs, Your Impossible Voice, and elsewhere. She has received several nominations for Pushcart and Best of the Net. Her 15th book, Porcelain and Vinyl, was published by Rust Belt Press in 2026.

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