Thursday, September 27, 2007

God's Wife

God’s Wife

I met God’s wife
Or so she said
Reading some magazine with muscles
And drinking coffee at Borders
I believe a latte
A nice enough woman
Pretty, with brown hair and eyes
Looking like any one of thousands
Of women you see in a month
No prettier
Her husband is omnipotent
I don’t believe she is
At least she did nothing to make me believe
She added sugar to her coffee
And had to wipe crumbs from the corner of her mouth with a napkin
Which fell and lingered on her blouse between her breasts
And I noticed she had a run in her stocking
When she stood to go to the restroom.
But she said she was God’s wife
Not his first
They had met in 1542
On a dirt path in Spain
Near some pastures
On the southern coast
God was sitting on a boulder
Wearing the robe and the sandals
With wild white hair and a wizard’s beard
The whole God-thing ensemble
Just sitting there
Head on his hands watching a sheep
Maybe wondering if he had goofed
He looked pensive with pursed lips
And maybe a little sad
God’s Wife knew he was God
Somehow she knew
She watched him for awhile
Out of his line of sight
But she knew
He knew she was there
So she asked?
-Why are you so sad?-
-I messed up sheep-
-So now, well...
-they're sheep-
-Yes, but why else are you sad?-
-My wife died last night-
-Oh I’m sorry-
Well God’s wife
Talked to God
That day, and the next, and the next
Without sleep or eating or drinking
He had so much to talk about
And when she talked to him
She had so much to say
About things she never knew she knew
She fell in love with his wild eyes
Which changed color with his moods:
Yellows and greens and crimson cobalt and
Deepest black and the white of pure light when he grew livid
And she fell in love with his mane
Of white which danced as he spoke
Punctuating his sentences with floating and flying
God’s wife - just a butcher’s daughter
Not even sixteen
Knew she was pretty, but others were prettier
And she was lithe and wore herself with assuredness
They were married in the town’s little Gothic church
With father Dominic presiding
God’s wife’s family was there
As well as everyone in the little Spanish town
And everyone from the area
Most sat on her side
How could some decide?
To sit on his side?
The priests and monks and nuns
Even though they were family
Thought sitting on his side
Still some did
To be polite
And were uncomfortable
Along with the crazy man
Who talks to himself
Who God welcomed by name
And a funny crow who cawed
At the right times
And some odd men in strange clothes
Who sat in the back
And talked to no one
But themselves
The ceremony was short
And the priest was uncomfortable
With the vows
-In God’s name, I mean your name-
Everyone congratulated the couple
And they walked off to the east
Arm in arm
God’s wife
She returned home frequently
Never missing a birthday
Nor an anniversary
But as time passed and
She barely aged
Since she lived in a different time zone
Her family and friends all
Grew old and passed on so
She made new friends in
Bern, then Salzberg, then Moscow,
London, Paris, San Francisco,
Havana and Lima and
Now her friends in New York have passed on
Like the others before
So she sips a coffee and talked to
Me and gave me her cell phone number
It has 112 numbers all twos
And now I am her friend.

God's Wife was written about five years ago. It was published in Tales From the
Telling Tree: Pat Berge and Nancy North, editors.

No comments: