Writing by Lola Weisselberg. Artwork by Sarah Dobbs.
Down through the sky He cast me,
No question or hint of a care.
Further and further and further,
Into the depths of the air.
Down through the sky I plummeted,
FATHER rang wild from my lips,
Hitting the land with a crash,
I began the apocalypse.
Into a body He crammed me,
Just like He did before,
With kidneys and fingers and eyeballs,
Into a cot they laid me,
Swaddled in cotton warm;
They watched me, fed me, cared for me,
Did their best to protect me from harm.
And for a few monthyears I stayed like this –
Time is so funny, you see –
For a whileage I babbled and gurgled,
And knew not what I was to be.
But time is a friend to no human,
And human is what I’d become,
And soon, all too soon, I remembered,
That I was the Promised Son.
And thus my brief childhood ended;
I remembered my God-given quest,
To judge and to punish the wicked,
To reward the good and the best.
But a child can do nought but watch.
For me, the age had not yet come.
When I could do as my Father commanded,
So, I passed the time with some fun.
Games in the playground, apples and sweets,
Stories in bed before I went to sleep,
Playdates with friends and Mum’s radio
Playing blues in the kitchen – we sway to and fro
Together, her and me, mother and child,
Dad leans on the door frame, his crooked smile
Glowing warm and soft on his myfather face,
As he marvels at his wife’s mymother grace
Cheekily winks at his mydadlovesme son –
And I ask myself, ‘why do I class love as ‘fun’?’
And it’s only a momentyear or two, or maybe more,
Maybe sixadozentwenty, I can’t say for sure.
A child can do nought but watch – fair enough.
But I time had grown me into a man,
So I had to do. That, I know,
Was always the plan.
But He made me human, you see.
That was the fault in His plan;
If you want to get something done,
Never involve a Man.
For I’d come to love the nowworld.
I enjoy things as they are.
I love my notHim Mum and my notHim Dad.
I love the things I’ve done so far,
I love my bones, my worries, my joys, and my sins,
The feel of the breeze as it kisses my skin,
A familiar tune, a drink with old friends,
Be it whiskey or beer or a coke (it depends),
Dark chocolate and train rides and Thursday and trees
The feeling of linen, a warm cup of tea,
The sound of ‘I’m sorry’ pouring forth from chapped lips,
My gleeful consumption of the world as it is.
And in this enjoyment
I have seen that He intends
Through me, His hand,
To bring about The End.
But I shall not bring this world to its finish.
I shall instead preserve;
I shall not do my duty,
Nor His wishes serve;
For to do that,
Would be rather an inconvenience