Wednesday, May 11, 2022

Anybody's Son but God's

Outside after dark, warm billows coming up from the pasture, through which one floats to the river. In what way is healing related to an argument? Drinking shitty coffee in a bowling alley, the past encircling all of us. Tell me again about Narcissus, issus?
How in winter the sun on fallen snow can blind you, this too is the road to Damascus. Dull ice in the forest where sunlight does not stream. Put your hand in my hand, lead me away from the war, teach me what it means to be love.
Caramelized onions. Getting my mouth washed out with soap, my mother’s hand on my throat holding me against the bathroom wall, her fury palpable, how scared I was I would die. How much of childhood was spent pleading!
Clouds lope like contented sheep across the hills. We bury the last of the chickens out beyond the pasture. You salt and pepper the eggs before scrambling, not after.
Cookbooks from the 1940s because who doesn’t need half a dozen kidney recipes. Laying down beneath the apple trees, drawing a deep breath, willing the Lord to agree with me, now is the time to go home. Imagine parties ten thousand years ago.
Somewhere along the line I forgot what it meant to be anybody’s son but God’s. Her voice is louder when she speaks Greek. Ripple effects.
Sweeping the stairs, going slowly, loving the mundane. This guilt, will nobody teach me how to live without it?

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