Wednesday, June 14, 2017

God, You Break

God, you break my brain.
You want the credit for everything
from the Big Bang to the atoms of my nose,
glory-hungry, insatiable for praise.
But you do 99-point-Lord-knows-what percent
of everything you do invisibly,
knowing your hand will never be seen
let alone thanked. 
You love us as much as Jesus,
who you killed. Let die. Let choose to die
at the center of web you built --
you're him, the prey,
and the spider, and the father of spiders,
and the web. Unspeakable:
mighty, weak, the ugliest, most beautiful,
most selfless self-fulfilling self,
like darkness in a blinding light.

My Brain Popped

My brain popped open
for a second, and shut
with so little explanation,
just a scribble on a wall:
"Be back."

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Four Prayers

I.
God, you come and go
like the wind in the trees,
attending to endless invisible business.

Remember when you were fire
and I was wood?
Life was much easier then.

II.
God, if pain is your megaphone
I think you've turned me deaf.
Teach me sign language. Please.
I can't read lips.

III.
My God, my God,
why haven't you forsaken me?
I feel you sitting around,
beside me silent in room after room,
waiting for me to trip on some truth.

Why play this game? Why not terrify me
all at once with your burning face,
or leave me at peace in the cold?
You tease me with matches hidden
under carpets, under rocks.

IV.
God, if you can do anything,
can you free me from myself?
I am tired. She weighs me down.

The Search

I am looking for leaders.
I am trying to be open

to Rilke, whose poems sing hauntingly
in both my languages 

but his worship smells strongly
of rot. I try to ignore it. And I know

my nose is sensitive, I know
how few clean worshippers there are.

I am waiting for someone
who sounds like a fool

and writes like a child 
and loves truth more than I do.

Vanity of Vanities

I made myself into 
the kind of woman who
puts her happiness deep
beneath others' but now

there are so many others

and the preacher keeps preaching 
about more and more like beautiful
petals piling 
in bucketfuls till my flower

is gone

and all I can see
anymore are the wrinkles I swore
not to notice 
while petals pile