Quiet Revelations

And on the eighth day
God evicted us from the Garden.

And on the ninth
God watched over us.
Tended to us.
Enveloped us.

And on the tenth
God did more of the same,
and paused regularly
to glance at his watch.

And on the eleventh
God called Gabriel
and asked that Gabriel cover His shift,
for He had much to do.
And thereafter He sat
before a House marathon
with a glass of milk and a box of Oreos,
and He ate one Oreo,
and that Oreo begat a second,
and the second begat a third,
and, so, Oreo begat Oreo begat Oreo
until he had emptied all four sleeves
of all but crumbs.
And thereafter He sprawled out on the sofa,
and He did nap.

And on the twelfth day
God did not bother with Gabriel.
Rather, He called in sick
and took a long shower
wherein He used much conditioner
and did dwell long upon His staff.
And deep into the night
He watched season two of Friends,
and when Joey moved back in with Chandler,
He did cry,
unabashed,
and He let it be known
that surely Joey and Chandler
should have been held aloft o’er TV Guide’s
‘Most Beloved TV Couples.’

And on the thirteenth
God returned to work
and slogged through the watching over.
The tending to.
The enveloping.
And though it felt right
to once again anoint our heads with oil
and make sure our cups overfloweth,
His movements felt empty
or perhaps rehearsed,
and He felt a trembling need
to get away.

And on the fourteenth day
God looked down on us,
and shuddered,
and logged on to Priceline.com
and booked a same-day flight
to Fiji,
and though He knew what His absence
would wreak upon us,
He imagined William Shatner
goading him on, saying ‘now you’re negotiating,’
and He smiled
and decided that it was
indeed
a reasonable price.

**

Wombs for the Wounded

Mommy, Mommy, kiss my brain
and make it better, Mommy dearest—
Christ, my head, it starts to boil
though I’ve kept it fettered, feared it,
sent it straight to bed (no dinner),
fed it pleasant pills of calm—
Christ, it boils still like magma—
Mommy, may your lips embalm.

Sandman, Sandman, bind my wrists
against my thighs and tie them tightly—
Christ, my fists, they ache to chafe
the cheeks of sneering imps who nightly
peek inside this fractured skull and
snicker straight until the dawn—
Christ, my knuckles thirst to splinter—
Sandman, make the bad be gone.

Memory, Memory, tell me lies
that make me want to talk to strangers—
Christ, my faith, it hides and seeks
a place away from pews and mangers,
just a porch to crawl up under,
rot and then rejoin the sod—
Christ, I wish belief came easy—
Memory, fib me back to God.

**

Getting Acquainted With The Family Plot

They say, “You know your father’s
sleeping right beneath this stone.”

“But Daddy lives so close,
why can’t he just sleep at home?”

“Well, it’s complicated, son,
you’re not the one he left behind.”

“Oh, I know that already,
I can feel him in my mind.
I feel him cock my eyebrow
when you guys do something dumb,
and when things get going good
I can feel him make me numb.
He comes into my room at night
and makes me grab a pen,
then shows me pretty pictures books –
can I go home with him?”

“Son, now don’t be morbid.”

“Yeah, but morbid’s half my blood.”

“Your father doesn’t –”

                          “Yes he does!
He rises from the mud!
He comes and reads me picture books,
he reads me straight to sleep,
and when you say –”

                          “You know you’re loved.”

“—he laughs
and preys,
my soul to keep.”