POETRY: God Girl by Erica Dawson

God Girl by Erica Dawson

I was born (again?!) two times:
Christened, then second dipped in a luke-
Warm pool with Satan, I rebuke
Thee, 
saved with pantomimes

(Hand down, across) and breath
Held with the Holy Ghost before
The family and the flock. Once more,
Bear me again. In death,

I’m good. At church, the hat
Appeared as a centerpiece of lace-
Wrapped buds. I watched the angel face
Stained in the ziggurat—

Like tiers of storied glass
Go flush in the sun, turn corpse-opaque
With clouds. And I, for heaven’s sake,
Took heaven’s biomass,

Washing feet first in the church—
White basement, hosed and pedicured.
I held the shot-glassed blood and stirred
Beside the Eden birch

Weeping to baked-in grass,
Green as a crayon. My fingertip
Went plum. Mom: God, girl, take a sip
Already. 
The church, en masse:

Amen. Good Lord. God Girl.
I love that end to the final verse,
Revelation to Genesis, Eve’s curse
In blood, the sidewalk twirl

Of sisters in Gunne Sax
Chiffon, Ham’s myth, and that dark dream
Where lepers lose their limbs, each ream
Of Bible type in black,

The Jesus red, the cracks
In the varnished pew, but most, the knell—
Less bleak than Longfellow’s wailing bell
And forlorn amphibrachs,

But chimes the same for death,
I Do, or simply Sunday mass.
That bell, reverberating glass,
Is like an isopleth

Connecting day to day,
Ringing it New. And when the hearse
Carries me home, recite this verse,
This is my body, and say

I’m sacrilege in my
Best dress, God bless, and off to Hell
For that I shalt not ever tell.
Remember me as I

Go under, over, pass
And turn to Old, from God’s Sweet Pea
Thrice born, in bone twice souled, to three
In liquid, solid, gas.

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