Keep bringing them to their knees
I’m supposed to give a shit about
changing diapers and taxes
but all I want is to stare at the apple tree a little longer
because when I watch her leaves play in the wind
I somehow feel it in my clitoris
which I suppose makes me a
Creationist
but not exactly in the way you’re thinking.
***
God, everyone wants me to solve their problems
they think I have answers
but all I have
is
You
and that apple tree.
What do I tell them when the trick really is just to look at the sky? They’ll think I’m one of those whack jobs who worships
Creation
***
They want to prove You, they’re so worried about Proving You.
Defining You.
Managing You.
(I know Your secret, You filthy thing.)
Scripture says…
Even way back then, they wanted to contain You in the pages of a holy book
Instead of letting
You
Loose!
(I can’t blame them. I’d build countless cathedrals and bind 1000 books to commemorate the way those leaves and certain songs make me feel.)
I know, at the end of the day—we’re human. And it’s the assurance we want.
(Solve this, please!)
Here, follow this. Read this. Believe this.
It’s not wrong.
Just so…incomplete.
Because I see You there
in the apple tree
too.
***
Sweetie, they aren’t wrong. You can solve a lot, you’re a well-seasoned soul. The rest I need you to simplify. Take Me, God, my unknowable expanse…
And make it simple.
***
I hate that they made it anything more than our cells basking in light filtered through a tree—the truest cathedral we know. I hate them for compiling and hoarding and profiting off our completely normal human dread and wonder. Go up, to the top. No higher, I want those guys. Yes, raid the tombs, I want the bones of those fuckers. Bring them here, under this canopy, this solid wood.
Solid word.
Tape their mouths shut, and do it fast.
They’ll try to explain
Love
and Law
and Creation
(false prophets, false creationists)
It’s so simple…
***
God, they want me to solve all their problems.
Keep bringing them to the trees
Keep bringing them to their knees
Is all I hear back.