Читать книгу Not on the Last Day, But on the Very Last - Justin Boening - Страница 9

TO BE A GOD

Starting now, I’ll do everything

as if I were a god.

I’ll walk from a dark room

as a god walks from a dark room.

I’ll speak to strangers

as a god speaks to strangers.

When it’s time to say something important

I’ll rise from my chair

as a god would

and speak in my

celestial certitudes.

There will be no more

lap-sitting,

no more stories

about my days

as a barback or a ferryman

or a farrier.

There will be fewer hours spent tuning

my piano

and patting my hunting dogs

or remembering

my youth. When I need you to hurt

I’ll put you to sleep as a god puts you to sleep,

I’ll play my discordant harp as a god plays a harp,

and the effects will be the same.

The noise of the bramble

never leaves me.

I bless the cedar. The months go by. I bless your saw.

When you need

me to hurt, I’ll dim

in the linden leaves, I’ll hide

in the fire-scarred hills,

and the great guards

of my gilded name

will circle around to protect me.

And you’ll be there,

and I’ll know your name

as a god knows your name,

as a father knows your name,

but you won’t recognize me.