Two poems by Emily Chaney
WORM GOD
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
EMULSION
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.
