God | The Poetry Foundation

I used to think

there was only one of You

before the miscarriage.

Now, I am not so sure.

Maybe there are a number of Gods to wade through

before falling at the feet of the last true one:

the jade God we pray to

who does not come or answer

& the plum one who appears to offer salvation;

the opal God who offers a limited extent of His kingdom

& the olive one who only offers condolences;

let us not forget the violet God that is bad with man

because He is deeply holy.

We all seek the one of manna though, don’t we?

He, the one of follow-through.

He, the one of action & consequence.

He, the one holding all we hunger for

like butterscotch in His palms.

That’s the God I want

to be alone with for a few moments,

the God I wish to have to myself

in the hushed hours when I should be up & readying for work

like millions of other souls dispersed

across the country’s ink-black pillow.

That’s the God whose name I utter

when I sit in silence

on the shoulder of my mattress. I dream

with eyes open of goading Him into halting my child’s rest,

guiding his or her tiny light close to the brushfire

flickering in my breath.

That God? That great & swollen orange storm?

That’s the God haunting me. The God who keeps His distance.

The God whose star-draped hands I envy.

They come at day’s end

to tuck my baby, my ember, into its infinite, feathered bed.

Notes:

Source: Poetry (September 2024)