I
f God be God,
He
(she/it)
is omnipotent.
H/s/i* could create
you, me
the rocks
the stars,
with memories.
Limestone strata, granite folds.
Half-exploded stars, the wave
of light already drawn a galaxy away.
A dying beam to mark a star that never was,
a billion light-years hence.
If God be God.
H/s/i could trace out the convoluted folds, sketch
the synapse trails that are my grandma's apple tree,
your father's face, my gimpy knee.
H/s/i might be all there is of Plato, Kipling, Twain.
The only truth in victor's history.
If God be God.
The death-defying swirl of DNA,
our handhold on the eco-web;
a figment. Treasured fossils? Newborn.
First editions, sprung upon the world
an nanosecond ere the latest version, maybe.
H/s/i is omnipotent.
H/s/i could have carved a niche
to fit the slice of toast I had for breakfast,
(whole-wheat, spread with home-made apple butter)
etched into my cortex. If h/s/i be God,
h/s/i could: and who's to say
h/s/i didn't?
*pronounced "she"
©Susannah Anderson, '98
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I remain.