When God raped our dear mother,
He chose the gown she’d wear.
What grew pitted in her belly
For the world to love and share.
Her hum blew low among the brush
And swept to corners deep,
Yet none would chance to hear it,
Tucked sightless into sleep.
God fucked her for He loved her,
No pretense in His gaze.
He let her burgeon quickly
A child made to amaze.
She drank her tea quite slowly,
Her fingers at her lips,
While a poor man held her cleanly
And watched her shaking sips.
He believed though God was silent,
Speaking naught to his white face,
While sweet she knew God bluntly,
Stuck with careful grace.
She was fated just a mother,
Though this day we bleed cool will.
This was an ancient time then
When God decided still.
I think of her so bluely,
Her life rendered apart
By a Lord’s black want for legacy
That He belittled her poor heart.
She is nothing but his mother,
A man who yearned for all
The stature of a deity
And so tragically his gall
Drove iron through his palms
And thorns upon his brow
That day they murdered God alive,
And somehow it matters now.
