Worm God, Emulsion

god will end up being mayonnaise 

Emily Chaney
Oct 13, 2023
3 min read
Word WitchcraftWitch Poetry
Photo by Sean Thomas on Unsplash

Two poems by Emily Chaney


deep in the dark

writhing, wriggling, blissfully blind 

eating and excreting rich and rank refuse

loam lovingly traversed by transcendent traces

worms work their way slowly, serene

to whom do worms pray?

what good god hears their hymns?

we watch them flee from floods

to die dehydrated or become brunch for beasts

does their heaven bloom below?

is their hell here, their agony above?

enigmatic ecstasy of existence in the entrails

the delicate denizens are driven down 

between basalt, brick dust, and debris

full and feasting in flavors of fruits and forgotten foods

yearning for yesterday’s spoiled sacred seasonings

their skin slips secret across another casual corpse

whose idol image imagined god, and why not a worm?

ears and eyes are extraneous inside the earth

pantheons pleasurably probing fetid fly-blown bodies

or working their way to the core of the compost church

christ cheated, sneaked from the sepulcher secretly

easter exit from devotional digestion that the divine deep was denied

do worms dream of that escaped eucharist? 

I wonder if they weep without that blessed body and blood?

suppose they stifle sobs, sorry to never slither through stigmata?

tragic treason of transubstantiation that the son of god slipped sublimate

from body to bread with no breakdown between

how sad to not succumb, to not settle and sing from multiple mincing mouths

how wonderful that worms will wallow with us when we wither

worm god, I pray: 

please peruse my person posthumously

craft crumbs from my carnage, so flowers flourish from my flesh

wriggle writhe blissful blind

eat and excrete earth herself

herald the holy heresy that heaven 

blooms beautiful beatific below

does their heaven bloom below?

WORM GOD - Emily Chaney


bread and wine are a good start

but god is a buttered roll

god is fat 

lipids glistening 

blessing starchy pockets where yeast breathed its last

crust dipped into herbed oil that drips 

and runs holy across backs of hands

drops onto laps staining divine in remembrance of Me

god is vinegar

god is ferment and metamorphosis 

preservation, salvation 

rebirth of cabbage, onion, cucumber 

god pricks your nose: sharp, curious,

who was it that mentioned mustard seeds

in search of a good metaphor for faith?

god is salt

god is sprinkled on runny eggs

god is of the ground and sea alike, seasoning eden

with trace minerals that the body and blood know to yearn for…

god damn, if I keep blending metaphors like this

god will end up being mayonnaise 

so then god is dirt 

under fingernails 

god is mulch god is worm castings god is tracked through the house

god is a really good mud puddle 

and dust 

and skin cells 

and spores of all things seen and unseen, etc.

this is why touching earth with a human body is

submitting to a higher power

mundane ecstasy

like skin-to-skin contact of newborn and parent 

like drinking water

–or wine if you prefer–

it is essential to regulate

to remember

we are only separated from divinity between footsteps

even a good emulsion splits

when it has expired

so god in heaven

exalted on high, hosanna in the highest, in fact

may have gone bad

maybe I’ll make god an egg as well as the rest

crack god into a bowl

and reincorporate all god’s parts 

whisked together smooth and creamy

and on a Sunday

I’ll spread god on a sandwich

and sit on the grass with god-moistened crumbs falling from my chin

to finally return god

to the earth

with Us

god is a really good mud puddle 

EMULSION - Emily Chaney

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EmJo Chaney (she/they) is some white bitch - middle age middle class middle child from the middle west - she has been writing poetry for an amount of time - she's on various social mediums but please leave her be - support her by trusting your instincts and doing the dishes.

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