what if all God wanted from us was to sing in the trees
-or at least, near them, said my sister,
unless you think you're a bird.
and we were at the dinner table in the afternoon
after I put wheat germ in the soup.
they'll never notice it, said Adele Davis in her book
but she didn't count on my littlest sister, sharp-eyed
sweet eaglet that she was at five, despite the endless loop
of her rabbit frou frou song that never ended, and she said,
chirping rather loudly:
what are all those dots in the soup?
what if there is no hell? I asked but only Heaven;
thinking of it before John Lennon did
to divert their attention.
but everyone kept slurping up their stew
and working around the B vitamins in it.
mary angela douglas 1 july 2014
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