HALF EMPTY, HALF FULL
The Psalmist said:
My cup overfloweth.
But I ask:
Flows over with what?
Does some God pour out
Health, pregnancy, and promise?
Or do demons dispense
Disease, bereavement, and decay?
Does this grail toast a festival or a festering?
My too-small glass contains a nectar
From the birth, rise, decline, and death of this entire planet:
A liquor in equal parts
Laughter and sorrow.
I look at the swirling
In this well-worn mug:
Black then white,
Strains of bitterness intermingle
With currents of sweet cream.
My cup overfloweth, yes.
And it maketh a mess on the carpet.
Sometimes I pray:
O stain of truth, please!
Mar not the perfection of fantasy.
And other times:
O what the hell,
Rain on me as thou wilt!
I shall read life’s spillage like Rorschach.
I worship thee, O flask of fright,
For thou tempers me.
I bow to thee, O jug of joy,
Thou who sustains me.
Mix and mingle!
Your alchemy will uphold
Sun and moon,
Glitter and shadow,
All that is bittersweet and awakens.
She might have imagined
She might have imagined a void
A void that dreamt of emptiness but wasn’t
Wasn’t what? Empty of spark? Full of refuge?
Neither empty nor full, within it awoke the Small
The Small awoke within the void and blossomed
Blossomed? It EXPLODED!
The Small exploded blood into the world
It rained out plasma, out quarks, out protons
The blood kinda poured out of nothing, as bright as God
God? She must have been born showering blood
Menstrual droplets that burst into angels
Or were they galaxies? The angels were never clear on that point
Yet they danced on the point of creation, billions of them
The galaxies, the angels, the whole damned cosmos dancing
And blessed, yes, I am sure something was blessed
Along with the angels and, let’s face it, demons
Galaxies whirled forth, at once damned and blessed
Upturned loam. A handful of seed. God’s magnificent orchids.
She touches one to her lips, and then another, can you imagine?