The Bright Side

The Bright Side

God was getting old,
but he’d been this way forever,
Mrs. God said. He always claimed
he liked Earth better “back then.”

“It’s hard, I know.”
She sat beside him,
just beyond the water’s reach.

“I prefer circles to lines,” said God.
“Well,” she half-smiled,
“We are all entitled to our preferences.”

What was age but weariness?
A shortening of the stride,
non-organic pain, low clouds
that lacked definition, but not duration,
like a sheet of steel.

Best to sit quietly, Mrs. God knew,
because very soon he would say,
“And yet…”

Connie Wanek