There Are So Many Names of God
but if I said Walt was one, you’d be mad
or say Oh God, she’s mad and lock me deep
in the sanctuary, trot me out on feast days.
Walt bought all the nails and built a church
carved a mouse over the door
and there’s nothing wrong with that
because God is a mouse and Walt is his father.
God lives in the dark of the mountains:
Space, Thunder, Splash, Matterhorn.
God is the Mad Hatter. And I don’t tell you this
to make you dizzy but to hoist a lamp into the trees
and help you see a tea party outdoors
is just what the God doctor ordered. God’s names
are at the bottom of your cup.
At the bottom of your cup there are stars,
the very stars I visit from my bed,
the ones on the way to morning
where the names of God are sung forever:
Cinderella, Jasmine, Ariel, Aurora.
Let God be light, let her ride the coasters
and fly if she wants to.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 54 | Fall/Winter 2019