THE SPEED OF LIGHT IS TOO SLOW FOR SOME PHYSICISTS
by Becka Mara McKay
To know there is a God is the opening
command. This is not my home, says the sinner
facing the gospel of idols, recounting
Abraham’s walk between the carcasses.
The shock of arrival leaves behind a mark
in the clay of your face: fear dents your lip
and your wisdom vanishes. I was too young
when I overheard my grandmother explain
our cousin’s death. She said cracked her head and I
thought swimming pool, not soldier, not infant,
not tree trunk. Are we meant to struggle against
divine fury or look the other way?
I searched for God’s victims wherever I went
but found His henchmen instead. I believe
only one story about Moses, and
it goes like this: angel, angel, anger.
To know there is a God is the opening
command. This is not my home, says the sinner
facing the gospel of idols, recounting
Abraham’s walk between the carcasses.
The shock of arrival leaves behind a mark
in the clay of your face: fear dents your lip
and your wisdom vanishes. I was too young
when I overheard my grandmother explain
our cousin’s death. She said cracked her head and I
thought swimming pool, not soldier, not infant,
not tree trunk. Are we meant to struggle against
divine fury or look the other way?
I searched for God’s victims wherever I went
but found His henchmen instead. I believe
only one story about Moses, and
it goes like this: angel, angel, anger.
Becka Mara McKay is a poet and translator. She directs the Creative Writing MFA at Florida Atlantic University, where she serves as faculty advisor to Swamp Ape Review. Recent work has appeared in Bennington Review, Copper Nickel, Ninth Letter, Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, Post Road, and River Styx. Her newest book of poems, The Little Book of No Consolation, is forthcoming from Barrow Street Press in spring 2021.