Dialogues (Against God)
how small did you feel
standing on the edge of Bryce Canyon
but we are always small
my father turning philosophical again
which is to say wandering away from any self
he might have
spoken of the hour the foolishness
with which we sculpt time into a life
my life is not my life
that I should say Ithat I daughter am daughtering
that we think we are different
that we stand on other margins
far from each other the days altering inordinately distantly
to this he sweeps clean my words with the same refutation
but we are always small
which is to say
we are as good not here as here
in the static of the hour I call dusk
and he calls dinner
silence holds its breath
(“I’m not dead. Nothing remains, let alone ‘to be said’”)
it bothered me that he claimed to know my mind
when more often a thought hides like sun in fog
I had asked him for a picture of the canyon
a picture of him against the sky’s bluest capacity
was it too much to imagine him standing in enchantment
did you see limber pine aspen those
taciturn holier-than-thou trees
did you see calm irrigation a river a creek
and farther west
the ocean and the country of your birth
I did not think you would use a word
like holy he observes from where his voice sits alone
(disapproving and lonely my father)
what will you have for dinner tonight
how many times will you circle the block
tonight
who will you speak to after me and why
tonight
yes I say it all the time
holy holy holy
it does not mean I mean it or understand
Jennifer Chang, “Dialogues (Against God)” from An Authentic Life. Copyright © 2024 by Jennifer Chang. Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Copper Canyon Press
