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AR #58 Cover
number 58

by Jesse Millner

God Fell Asleep at the Wheel
barrow—of Creation

I am still hungry for the sweet plum
that glistens from my grandmother's
refrigerator in the holy year of 1959,
when I learned how to play baseball
in a pasture behind the old dairy barn,
the one that was filled with rats and snakes
and rotting harnesses and moldy sacks of grain.

So much depends upon my memory
of the purple plum, of the cats
that bore their young in the darkness
below the old kitchen
whose floor held up the refrigerator
that still hums with the fragrant
scent of memory.

Maybe God did fall asleep
while pushing the wheelbarrow
holding the clay that would be molded
into all of creation: plums, chickens,
grandmothers, baseball, rats, snakes,
refrigerators, blind kittens,
the years themselves
that are spoken
now in the sacred rooms we dream,
night after night, as God sleeps
at the wheel-
barrow just as
the stars begin to rain
white light.

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