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.
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.