God Is Not Right, He Is Big
The news isn't all bad. July and Augustwere the hottest months in human history,but a family found the pet tortoisethat went missing in 1982. The low cloudabove me passes under the high cloudslike a souped-up Civic passing on the right.I've been all over this island and stillhave no names for most of the trees.Despite the urgings of good peopleI do not find Job comforting: all thatswag and bluster, mean and uselessas Oz before Toto pulls the curtain.The plenitude and manifold textureof things, this comforts me a little.My old friend is in a hospice bed,his beard gray and wispy.His blond granddaughters, both bornmonths early, are up too soon,happily demanding love and cereal.The low cloud is nearly past,the high clouds are scattered and litby the early sun. Not everyone is safe.Not everyone is warm. "God is not big;He is right," that wise fool William Staffordhad the dandelions say, but they werealready drying up, forgettingeverything, loosing their frothy seedsto scatter and settle as they might.
Copyright © 2019 by Jeff Gundy
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Jeff Gundy’s eighth book of poems, Without a Plea, was published in early 2019 by Bottom Dog Press. Recent poems and essays are in Cincinnati Review, River Teeth, Forklift, Ohio, Terrain, and Christian Century. He is at work on a series of lyric essays about the Illinois prairie with the working title “Wind Farm.”
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