CW: If you’re Christian, the poem is heretical.
By Keira Perkins
I am the god of small things.
I am the god of slugs,
I rescue those that creep in the dirt from steel blades
I lift those that scuttle from deep and impassable waters
And those that pierce my skin and draw my blood, live.
I am the god of small mercies.
Tell me that your God is mercy
Tell me of terrible deeds that show His Will
Are you not worth more than many slugs?
Is a kitten safe in your Father’s arms?
Or will her head be dashed against rocks to show you
Are her lungs crushed to show you a Master
Your God will not pour salt upon my soil
He. Will. Not.
Small, wounded souls until they love
Him. And only Him
I will cast your God from my garden
I will banish Perfect Love from my imperfect heart.
For I am the god of the small creatures
I am the god of small graces.
I am the god of the slugs.
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