Governing the Bodies of Gods
Lan nie Sta bi le
I am not good
at having a body.
I have too many limbs
and too much mind
that get in the way.
Gods prefer me
unprotected.
so that I can
leave pain
far below me.
Gods still protest
pink stones that
shatter their bodies
for mine.
Gods tell me
removing the moon
is the dance of monsters.
I try to explain eclipses
dissolve a life
I cannot live with.
Gods are blind
with omniscience.
Storms grow thick
beneath my arms.
Gods tell me
to shave my thunder,
that it collects stardust.
Stardust is a black hole.
But they forget
how the universe
was made.
I am not good
at having a body.
It does not align
with the religion
of gods who tell me
their images
are not like mine,
but enough like mine
that their rocks
formed my canyon.
But they forget
how the canyons
were truly made.
I have not forgotten
how the universe
was gathered
between river thighs,
flowing to a mouth of silt
Gods tell me
their tongues would
not wish to wash there.
But, truth be told,
I have been rinsing
my own hands for years.
I have not forgotten
how the tears
of gods, running,
cut into themselves,
until they were
weakened,
forced to submit
to granite wombs.
Gods tell me
I cannot put pebbles
in my body.
Gods tell me
it does not matter
if the pebbles
peel skies and clouds
from a hungry earth,
26
Cauldron Anthology