poem: God and the guest room
from my shaggy turf house to yours...
God and the guest room
I asked God to come live with me
only I didn’t mention
what a mess my house is
and now I’m in the guest bedroom
trying to shove everything into the closet
anxious sweat on my brow
trembling hands, shuffling and shoving,
but when I go out to explain
the state of his room
I can’t find him
the living room is empty
I look out the front window—
maybe he’s gone?
brow-knitted, I turn and decide to make tea
put the kettle on, wondering
walking down the hallway
to grab my book from the nightstand
only to find that God has taken my room
and in a tone that betrays an amusement with my surprise
he says, “thanks for having me”
—ZW
“God and the guest room” feels like it can stand on its own two feet—unadorned by a lengthy secondary metaphor. but I can only see the inside of my own head. which, if we’re being honest, looks a good deal like this shaggy recreation of Erik the Red’s home (father of Leif Erikson)…
Q: what connections/thoughts does it bring up for you?
this is one of the poems I’ve thought about the most since I finished the book. probably because it disorients me in the right way and sends me inward, looking into my own house. I hope it serves you as well.
============================
if you’re just tuning in, I’m working my way through my first book of poetry, Snowmelt to Roots. this is also a space where I share songs (new song Jan 24th), creative process & musings, and hopefully some encouragement from time to time. thanks for being here.
peace,
Z
Wonderful words