Your Poem Here by Bruce McRae

I’ve put you in a poem.

In it you’re standing on a dock

after you’ve finished painting your verandah.

You’re holding a Christmas cactus

and grinning like a schoolboy,

having accomplished any number of things

on any number of levels.

It’s a lovely spring morning.

I’ve made sure of that.

After all, it is your poem,

it’s your name, your dedication –

let’s live a little,

a tour of the Maldives or Malta,

of the Seychelle Islands,

this poem, your poem,

stuffed with holidays and shiny trinkets,

with beautifully designed textiles,

with jewelry and gemstones.

Or you’d prefer a story instead,

mysterious goings-on and a twist ending.

We’ll travel in time,

visiting the other, unseen, dimensions,

traverse great distances,

circumnavigate the celestial sphere,

encounter exotic and implausible life forms,

hold congress with cherubim,

battle dark angels the Mighty Author

has written out of Heaven . . .

That’s really what this is –

a poem about God, about godhead.

And you’re in it.

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