Breaking News: God’s Rewilding Plan Leaked
According to a source high up and anonymous, God will announce this week He’s rewilding the earth. He confesses He should have rested on day six while He was on a cosmic roll, and laments He missed the signs: bipeds, blinkered by supremacy, would try to tame everything. He admits to verte- and invertebrates His human trial flopped. Therefore, next Sunday pandas, peacocks, and silverbacks will play in Times Square and caravans of antelope race across Pennsylvania Avenue. Every boundary line, dam, trellis, and mended wall will rumble down. Steel, asphalt, and concrete will be banished heretofore. So will summerizing gardens everywhere. Believe what you like about our superiority, God made a mistake. He should have advised Adam and Eve not to procreate and lounged them beneath the apple tree where they’d spend their ten-score years in blissful innocence rather than sweat through parental anxiety. Between you and me, I’d support a God as transparent as this. If His plan succeeds, find me hanging out—waggishly naked and wild—on the edge of some post-paradise with monkeys, giraffes, dolphins, elephants, koalas, and birds of every size.
First published in Unearthed, 2019.
Nudging Jesus to Get Help
Come now! It’s obvious. You’re depressed. Back in the day, your guys said you wept when disappointments overwhelmed. This week you’re at it again. Believe me, I understand. Who wouldn’t cry when polar bears are starving on ice floes and children line cages in border towns? It’s hard to accept you’re not responsible. God knows you tried to save us from ourselves, but humans with their flawed free wills do what humans do. It’s time to save yourself. Maybe a Buddhist or Muslim therapist or, a last resort, an atheist? You need someone free from fossilized beliefs about who you are and what you tried to teach. Let’s Google mental health practitioners. The town is filled with them…But wait… How about I round some children up? We have several in the neighborhood: Vietnamese, Ethiopian, a few mixed families. We’ll invite them to sit at your feet and you can entertain with lilies of the field, sparrows, and mustard seeds. Throw in a few miracles––like how you walked on water to calm your antsy crew or busted Lazarus out of his tomb. Play up the angle of the walking dead and how he smelled when his clothes fell off. Kids like that kind of gross and will take it literally. Be sure to add how heaven is here–– although I’d chuck any kingdom metaphors. Focus their unclouded eyes on the glory of a slug, a gingko tree, a flock of geese. Teach them how they’re connected each to each and earth’s their fragile playing field. If you resurrect your innate charm, I bet these innocents will check the validity of your beard and heal your cracking heart.
To those of you who will not die today: walk through your home and bless the open doors, the table set, the breadth of sun lounging on the Persian rug. Catalog the small contentments you have earned: eager words vying for a poem, work you’ll never have to do again, backyard squirrels that entertain. Praise every squill, crocus, and bleeding heart that dares subvert winter’s calendar. Invite young mysteries in and seat them between answers you have no questions for and ponderables still unclassified. It goes with saying: listen attentively. Then tomorrow, if it arrives, repeat.
First published in Yellow Arrow Journal, 2020 (print).
©2023 Carolyn Martin
All rights reserved
…is blissfully retired in Clackamas, Oregon, a lover of gardening and snorkeling, feral cats and backyard birds, writing and photography. Since the only poem she wrote in high school was red penciled “extremely maudlin,” she is amazed she has continued to write. Her poems have appeared in more than 175 journals throughout North America, Australia, and the UK. Currently, she is the poetry editor of Kosmos Quarterly: journal for global transformation.