God Poem
Spent the first hours of official morning,
when the stomach is somewhat full and the brain
starts to stretch and move,
listening to a treasured friend
talk to a packed audience
about God --
who is God,
how do we talk about God,
what happens when we literalize God
(make God a father, for instance,
especially if we [like me]
drag around father-complexes
like ratty old security blankets,
Linus-like,
tumbling them in the dust
of our wakes),
how God gets invented by creeds
rather than the other way around,
how even the word -- God --
is soaked in blood
and struggle,
in human will and cruelty.
We asked ourselves how we imagine God,
and if, over time, God has changed for us,
and what that change
(if It exists)
has worked in the way we see the world,
and I wrote:
as some sort of natural Spirit,
as the teacher in all things,
and once I saw God as
a cross-eyed Jesus,
and his mean old father
who smites girls like me
for shits and giggles, because
He can,
the arbitrary patriarch
who gets off on
smashing dreams,
but now I see the world,
in this moment reawakening from winter sleep,
as God
or as close to Her
as I’m going to get
and so I live my life
with something like reverence,
and half-assed grace,
with appreciation for love
where it exists
(in the cracks
between things, in the space
between breaths),
knowing
it’s the only one I’ll get.
2 comments:
I cannot be clever; I absolutely love this, and I hope you don't mind me sharing it with Joe and Deirdre (who should write her own image of God poem) and Deirdre's new boyfriend who actually enjoys talking about stuff like this!
Share away! I'm actually flattered that you want to pass it on.
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