Marianne Boruch
I am so pissed, said god, maybe
I am so pissed, said god, maybe
I’ll invent happiness. It was a blur at first.
But it got bigger. It sort of hovered,
wanting to land, to land –
On what? god said to whatever wasn’t
bright and brought out of nothingness yet.
Oh that nothing at all – so beautiful, it took
god’s breath away. Was it breath? – no,
something else. How long before happiness
turned bluish, restless, trying
to cancel itself out. Should I invent time then?
said god. Maybe the problem is this
summer thing. Maybe trees get sick
of their green and their whispering. Happiness,
said god, welcome! But stand over there,
over there, over there...
Page(s) 16
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