Named After God

reluctant poetry

Tell me now, again, what God’s name is:

When prayer wields words like fiery phallic swords;

When we must worship towers of bishops,
casting out heretics, burning witches;

When Eve our mother bears the blame for sin and pain,
though bearing all in birth, and bearing all to Adam,
just a mudman without Eve;

When virgin births do sanctify, and saviors’ mothers virgins all must be,
and never bear resemblance to a woman
made of everyday miraculous design;

And when we pray, our father, father, father:
never farther;

Tell me now what God’s name is,
for in His image I am surely made.

Not me; not me. I am not called He.

I know at least my name.