from Holiday, section VII, vii
by Susan Hahn


Then, He took a holiday—dipped His loosened
hair in the calm seas, rested, then slept,
while the word Good repeated itself
in His stupor for each day He had worked.
GOOD, GOOD, GOOD, GOOD, GOOD, GOOD—
it was, wasn't it? GOOD GOADED GOD

so much that on the eighth day—
His hair matted to His head—He awoke
with a start in a terrible sweat with the shakes
and a fever and a too labored shout
over what He had birthed.


 

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