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I had a chaplain friend in the hospital who said that saying Fuck God was at least a relationship, and a meaningful one. Hope this doesn't overly offend anyone. But read the poem and you'll see how I mean it.
By Pamela Spiro Wagner
"Fuck God," you say, the worst thing
you can think of, and "Jesus F. Christ!"
when everyone knows what blasphemy
the F� stands for. And because the lightning bolt
doesn�t strike you down as you�ve been
promised, you decide he, or she, if God,
doesn�t really cut it in the omnipotence
department since you�d smack anyone else
who said such a thing, meaning
you, yet God doesn�t even send a thunderclap
or an ominous massing of clouds
off to the northeast just to remind you
So now you stand sheepishly
in church between the pews while others do
the Stations you�ve completely forgotten, mumbling
the Lord�s Prayer which is all you have not,
and pray no one you knew as an atheist
sees you with your head in a hymnal
on your knees before the God you swore
off as a militant teen and are ashamed
to be seen going back to just for succor
in a time when your son�s failing high school
and your feckless husband ran off with
Randy, the electrician, and all your friends
nod at you in the street but won�t stop
to speak except to explain prior engagements
like the housefire they�re running
towards or from, or the big C
they had an MRI for with ambiguous results.
But even death won�t shake them
from the strenuousness of their disbelief.
They�re convinced God is for children and idiots
with substandard IQ�s or people who need
their heads examined.
So in church, kneeling
because others are kneeling, you examine
your head for flaws and other shit-for-brains
when through the open door tumbles
a small bird, a dove you think, and it lands
on your shoulder, in its beak an olive twig,
halo �round its head, and in its eyes
a look of love you almost recognize.