Feb 9, 2010

Sermon to the Minister

Written by Hannah Craig

Read by Bill Neumire

You start in the garden. I start
in the fruit. In the wasp who penetrates
the fruit, her gauzy abdomen silver.
Each egg she lays costs the tree one
potential offspring. Each pollinator
must be worth it. I start in the inner
ovule, the small ear-shaped flowers
filled with eggs. I start where a million die
and one survives. You start at the opposite end.
We arrive in the middle to contemplate
the darkling wasp, the child insect
under the hull, under the protein-based
cake-bell, like Jonah’s resolve
in the cavern of whale. Inept, at the very best,
with her gluey wings still sort of stuck
to one another. I start in the stem base.
In the back of the brain where the story has grown
to something funicular, to a singer
swinging on a long, loose cable over
the stage. To the girl with the jump rope.
To the father singing hallelujah. Though,
in starting, I do have thoughts for you. My thoughts
are pacified towards you. I have clung
to order and reason for so long.
I have beloved as you said it, but not
how I saw it. Because you ended on the message
from the lord’s mouth. Because the wasp
bites her way free, makes her flight
to another living tree with all those
sweet sacrifices strung upon it.

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