Yet Another Letter to God
Claire Scott
Here’s the thing, God. I am all right with death. Sort of.
Really not so much. Actually not at all. Not a bad idea
in principle. Too many people crowding limited real estate.
Elbowing each other for a few square feet of scorched
asphalt. Barely enough corn and soybeans and French fries
to go around. I get it. We would end up killing each other.
The rich grabbing more and more, the poor sleepless under rickety
bridges. Children starving in war-torn states. Bellies bulging.
A total clusterfuck. I get it. But face it, God. You gave us no tools to deal
with death. No sandpaper to smooth over the rough edges
of grief. A child, a husband, a friend, a goldfish. A battered Toyota
we have driven for twenty years. No polish to shine
our mornings when we wake to yet another day.
And remember.
Could there be an end without an end? You yatter on and on
about heaven with its many mansions. But you don’t really
expect us to believe these mindless myths and miracles, do you?
Once I eagerly devoured them. And I was hungry all the time.
Heaven would need to house over a hundred billion people. Never
enough toilets or towels even though you can multiply
fish to feed five thousand. This is definitely beyond your slender capacity.
But maybe I can help you here. What of Shrinky Dinks.
Surely you remember Shrinky Dinks. Simply shrink each sentient
being in a warm oven until there is plenty of room for all.
Or maybe we should just start over. Perhaps with a different god.
Like Isis or Athena or Lakshmi. Affirmative action.
Well, what do you think? Your fast fading disciple,
Claire
—First place in Massachusetts State Poetry Society’s Madeline Elizabeth DeVeau Memorial Contest Memorial Contest
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