mother & scribe

Not God

We can talk transformation, scale the process to

metamorphosis of butterfly from caterpillar,

infant from embryo, a birth of sorts.

We can use words to explain the pain away

in a record of the fits. Ecstatic convulsion.

It is laughter with the clouds. It was gratitude weeping

on knee in the kitchen by the cast-iron sink

when I learned world peace is possible

because someone declared

anything is possible.

And today’s scream.

Shoes slammed against the floor

not because we are still in this growing war,

only because I am not free of this worn story

about a filthy floor.

Burn them

with me.

We can whittle this down to the birth of a butterfly

or the opening of a rose bud. I want for something so simple

seemingly graceful. But I am more like elephant,

the one with smaller ears and emotion steering.

Horton heard a Who?


Who?  is the silent voice

no one else hears.

And everyone listening

hears some version of

in something called

the first thought.

Yes, I am more like elephant than butterfly

I have no wings, the tattoo of ages is my skin.

But I am not elephant, I am human.

More like God, I am told, because I name

and can claim elephant,

butterfly, and all the others.

And oh I am not God. Please.

For all I know of God is laughter

with the clouds, gratitude in a weep

on the floor and this wail that cracks the ceiling.

The root of a tree surfacing.

I am human. If there is freedom in this body

it is the human kind with strings attached.

Much like elephant

but not quite as close to God's image


note: Not God was written summer 2014 (revised 2016) during a month’s witness with butterfly - personal and planetary transformation.

Megan HollingsworthComment