Sometimes Mrs. God asked
simply to be called by her first name.
“It’s the only thing that’s mine
alone,” she said, wandering
the Rosette Nebula, a wild place
that had immense potential
and was always burning and growing.

God had lately
created the black widow spider
that consumed her tiny mate
directly after he fertilized her eggs.
“That’s not funny,” said Mrs. God.

“I thought you would be pleased,”
he teased, “with the female’s
proprietary ability to give birth.
What could be more vital?”

Nothing,” she said bitterly,
setting aside her observations
regarding the discomfort involved
in human reproduction.
“But if our goal is peace on Earth…”

“Peace on Earth,” God repeated—
“Did we say that?”
“Many times.”
God turned away.

God turned away,
as deep in the Heartland heavy snow
began falling, simple white,
and two bear cubs emerged,

wet and hungry, and took their first breaths,
while their mother groaned in her sleep.
“It could end like this,”
Mrs. God thought,
“except for those cubs.”