Like many fathers God had no patience

for infants. So he made us older

but naïve. We never needed

to crawl, bruise bone on stone

or feel the sting of his rod.

We lacked experience with failure.

Unlucky that way, our lost childhood

was like a death from the opposite end.

He may have been bored as hell

in heaven, alone with his stars, empty

space and that initial Word yet undefined.

He had little to do but play

with the things he’d made. Eager

for us to make sense or mistakes,

he sent that darker ego with a tiny tongue

and tempting promises.

With so much to learn, who wouldn’t

be curious? Many men envy their fathers.

We wanted all he knew, the whole garden,

but we hoped he would leave us alone.