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Jamey Hecht Get It Right (for Xenophanes) To horses, God is a horse. To bears, God is a great brown bear. To sad nostalgic midlife bachelors, what wears Creation’s crown is Someone who once had a Garden with two friends inside, who left because they wanted more. Elsewhere now, they write; they multiply; they ply their deft maneuvers in the bay, their bobbing prow cleaving the foam. To fools who blew their shot at love, God is a dashing, suave Don Juan. Committed to nobody’s survival, not even His own, He loves what isn’t gone: the starry darkness of the open night. God’s whatever you are, so get it right. Father McKenzie’s Banquet Father McKenzie rinses rice so thoroughly, you’d think it was a formal feast for twelve that he’s preparing. Not that he’s overly concerned; Apostles may invite themselves at any time. Unshaven, he’s past caring; Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Paul, George and Ringo in the window staring at his supper would be welcome, each and all. Old Miss Rigby’s number is around here somewhere. From the saucepan, steam rises up to whisper in his ear: Romance, romantic love, love, the dream that spread its ancient wings and disappeared so long ago? Still here. Still starving, as you feared. |
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