god didn’t give her only son because she so loved the world

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Photo by Zulmaury Saavedra on Unsplash

What if we have it all wrong;
God didn’t give her only son because she so loved the world but because her son loved the world and she loved her son?

The question mark—

does love mean holding tight
or letting go, or that damn serenity prayer?
If love is knowing the difference,
if love is knowing, 

even God is agnostic.


God saw the darkness
and created light, but with it, shadow.

God saw war and famine,
limbs severed for not meeting quotas,

gaslit lovers and neglected children,
the buzzing thousand paper cuts
of the internet.


Jesus saw hillsides strewn with poppies,
tide pools bright with sea stars,

kindness among strangers,

decades-long marriages, 

the daily comfort of a group chat. 


God did not want to be right about this one.

Prove me wrong, she prayed—gods pray
to their own children—and show me

that I haven’t created ruin that will ruin you. 


After all of it—the betrayals and the blood,

the cave and the miracle, God’s son comes home,
though it doesn’t fit like it used to.

Jesus has stubble and scars now, a haunted look.

All God can say is, I’m sorry.


Jesus says, Please, don’t be, 

and tells her about the man next to him,

the bad thief, those hot hallucinatory days on the cross.

How they were both alone, and not. 

How the thief, too,

prayed to his mother.


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