what if...

7^th April, 2023

 

Dear Father, does it pain you

To see me thus

This morn?

As I steam from slumber’s berth

Engine clunking odiously,

Pistons spluttering, smoky gasps,

Crankshaft grinding under strain

Of what I am not, yet stubbornly maintain

And still, perversely, wish to be?

In disbelief, perhaps, You gaze at

The wreck I became –

Tattered sails, the groaning hulk

Of Your once gay, pristine handiwork,

Now filled to the gunwales with a cargo

Of bad and hurt.

 

 

How? You ask, bewildered, recalling

The joyous fanfare of my first morn.

How? You sigh,

Dare I say, dejectedly,

Seeing my body, mind, my soul

Fouled all but irretrievably –

Immortality spilling from a leaky sump

Into a sorrowful sea

As I drag myself, laboriously,

Into my parody of a new day

While You, Father, transfixed,

See all with brutal clarity,

My godlessness –

Long to turn away... cannot.

A cloud, mercifully, crossing Your brow

Relieves the pain of stinging empathy.

Down You gaze, disconsolately,

Into the fog –

Resigned to leave alone, as we agreed,

Not to interfere,

Not to intervene,

Not

Yet mutter silently

Why?

For what?

 

 

Father,

You gave me all I needed,

Everything I dreamed of

And more

To live with quiet, inward joy

A life of beauty

And dignity,

A life fit for the daughter or son

You see in me –

Photonically Your flesh and blood, no less,

Able to transcend my woeful predicament,

Able to evolve and grow complete,

Should I choose to acknowledge

The nullity of this desperate attempt

To deny my parentage, the vacuity

Of a life at sea heading anywhere

But home, trusting anyone but You,

Being anything but me.

 

 

Behold – You begin on a podium

In a Michaelangelo lecture hall –

A speck, a mustard seed comprising all

In miniature, a perfect replica

Ready to reach toward infinity –

Impossible though this may seem,

Ready to grow and become

The capstone of creation, no less...

Who me? – the enormity beggars belief

Almost inconceivable, I confess – You go on,

Tapping the lectern somewhat nervously –

Designed, in fact, to hold in place,

All and everything, no less;

A life – deep breath – meaning more 

Than one can possibly comprehend – intended

To hold the spheres of heaven and Earth

In concord… 

It cannot be?!

In peace – dramatic pause

In unity – thunderous, silent angelic applause

As You conclude, arms outstretched 

To rows of upturned seats

In an empty auditorium,

Trying, conscientiously, not to hope

That I or any other human heard, 

Trying to observe, faithfully, the terms agreed:

Not to tip the scales, not to cheat,

Though feeling Your resolve, in truth,

Somewhat weak,

Miracles do happen after all,

You reflect, archly.

 

 

But down in reality, another day has dawned,

Another murky morn in which once more

I turn away, appalled

By the prospect of facing the breach –

The gulf between Your truth,

Your light obscured so effectively

And the world of clever things, clever men

Systemically unaware of all You represent,

All that You are,

All that I could be –

Busily building a world in which

You play no part, have no place,

Matter not – busily doing,

Busily

Until time runs out, and the slate

Of human ingenuity is unexpectedly

Wiped clean –

And naught remains.

Naught but Thee.

 

 

Perhaps I exaggerate,

Perhaps a sour aftertaste of undigested

Fatty acids persists; or thoughts, incoherently

Sloshing back and forth, infused with

Smatterings of minds they used to frequent –

Shades of former glories, now reduced

To cadging rides on passing interstellar

Juggernauts rumbling through the back lanes

Of infinity – noise

Fading to nought and mere oblivion

Until You, in dungarees and hobnailed boots

Reconstitute reality, ineffably

With a hoe and trowel.

 

 

Unless, that is, almost inconceivably,

Me changes trajectory,

Me feels the latent power of life,

And love, and Spring calling from deep,

Deep within...

    What if me were to heed

The silence that seeks to awaken poetically

A sanctuary from busy-ness –

A place where words

Come into their own,

And put down roots

In the soft loam of a virgin Earth,

A new today

Patiently awaiting discovery?

But how?

Once them sickening waves subside,

Once a dove returns

Bearing an olive sprig,

And hope eternal

To nullity puts paid.

 

Leaning now on an old wooden spade

Down at the allotments,

Affairs of state and paternal woes

Submerge in the tending of raised beds,

As Mother nature plies her trade 

At Your behest,

Bringing in fairy spirits and elves

To engender sweet new growth,

To coax life from death,

Spinning webs of interdependency 

And interconnectedness

As only woman knows how.

Oh!  You exclaim, dazed 

Or thereabouts,

And wield the spade 

Now with tender newfound reverence,

Allowing joy to seep back in.

What if… You chirp light-heartedly

Finishing off a row of cabbages,

Moving onto swedes

 

 

zero equals one