GOING TO CHURCH
I feel a touch of current as the congregation floods around me and for a moment it seems we’re spilling through a dam and leaving a bit of energy. I’ve told people God is electricity and mostly they laugh. But electricity ripples through neurons and draws water to a cell. You know when an August thunderstorm comes ripping over the Bridgers that lightning is God downing the power poles, God spread over the Rockies and all the way to the coast, flashing in two foot wide shafts from earth to sky, blinking on and off as people wake,
turn on a lamp, brew some coffee, as they lay down to face the night,
moving with a touch of a finger
between God and darkness.
2 responses so far ↓
1 Liz // Mar 17, 2009 at 1:03 am
MAc-
I really like this one and the one about going to work at the power company. I don’t know but the meditations on light and electricty really work for me. In both I think you suceed in amking the world of the poem strange enough to jarring the reader into seeing something new. I think the problems I have with this poem are the transitions. The transition between laught and but and between cell and you but i reall y like the water cell stuff so keep. Its not even that you thematically have to fit it in just right… maybe change the way the line sounds in the mouth so that its like you what you say about water and cells is something you HAVE to say. anyways I like the ways in which these two poems bread experimentation with imagerdy… i also love unplugging the chord from between your bosses shoulder blades. and I think that poem is getting close to be a sucsessful “politcal” poem. More on that later as I have to run! Bye!
2 mackenzie // Apr 13, 2009 at 4:17 pm
GOES TO CHURCH
I feel a touch of current as the congregation floods around me and for a moment it seems we’re spilling through a dam. I’ve told people God is electricity. Most just laugh. But when an August thunderstorm comes ripping over the Bridgers, God
is the lightning downing the power poles, spreading
over the Rockies and all the way to the coast, it’s God flashing in two foot wide shafts from earth to sky. If God is in the world He’s rippling through neurons and drawing water to a cell, blinking on and off
at the tops of the radio towers as people wake,
turn on a lamp, brew some coffee, as they lay down to face the night,
moving with a touch of a finger
between God and darkness.
You must log in to post a comment.