MomsBook_asof9.18.17

Primitive Plainsong
You there, YHWH, hiding in the bush,
what do you want from us?
God knows we’ve tried to please you
with our dancing, with our drumming,
dressing up in plumage, carving out
a totem, slaughtering a ram.
In the jungles, by the Ganges,
in the covens of the witches –
through the deserts, on the mountains
we have wrestled with your name.
Robed and hooded we have chanted;
in the midnights and the mornings
we have heeded the Oremus.
Homes forgotten, bodies hidden
we have sought to match
your humors with our psalms.
You watch us make you over
every day. We shape you to our needs
and moods; we fashion you to fit
the news, to change our health or weather.