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.