The Shortest Sentence in the Bible
by Jeff Whitney
Was two words : Jesus wept : The dead
have their language and we have ours :
Last year a neighbor soaked a Christmas tree
in gasoline for one week : I don't ask why
a friend dreams of leaving his baby in a rail car
heading to Topeka, of jumping into a pool of piranha
with his whole damn family, trying his luck in hell : Yesterday,
I tried to count the names of the innocent dead but lost track
at the part where the mama bear dismembers
thirteen unruly angels, where beautiful becomes a mouth
with our names on its teeth : Later I watched Heaven’s Gate
members talk about leaving the earth, and why
they were so happy : Maybe we never learn to be suspicious
of happiness : A man in Berlin told me there are ways to snort the moon
when it explodes and space is snowing : I guess if we can turn the moon
into powder sure as anything we can make the Lord god cry :
You know the joke where you hold up a naked hand
with something awful in it and say look
what I almost stepped in : I guess Life is a very long sentence
in a very pointless book : Shadow in the dark of some wizard’s
dream : Dead language in the ground of mass grave : Life is a Fiddler
on the Roof man churning the field of a lifeless Anatevka, singing
TRADITION, coming home every night to augur
stories in the dust of a bird bath until it is no longer
a question where the light comes from : Or
it’s the older brother’s arm of a previous century
pushing us into a lonely line dance at a loud country bar
where one by one our friends leave through different
windows, fire exits, key holes : You know the joke :
Just give me your biggest coffin : I’ll find friends
to fill it : No head is so big that it cannot be
crowned : Tonight I am writing you from above
Houston, I think : I can see its bright living
population : From here, maybe it’s obvious
that any god would cry : The way my father did
when fire took the hill behind our house, and we
had to choose what to save and what to leave
to flame : When, later, we took the dog
for one last hoo-rah in the pickup : Like god,
we loved him so much we gave him to fire :
Houston, you must know this already
but I’m telling you now : The dead have their city
and we have ours : When astronauts dream they dream
of floating ants, weightless hammers :
Today’s ash is a better day’s splendor
have their language and we have ours :
Last year a neighbor soaked a Christmas tree
in gasoline for one week : I don't ask why
a friend dreams of leaving his baby in a rail car
heading to Topeka, of jumping into a pool of piranha
with his whole damn family, trying his luck in hell : Yesterday,
I tried to count the names of the innocent dead but lost track
at the part where the mama bear dismembers
thirteen unruly angels, where beautiful becomes a mouth
with our names on its teeth : Later I watched Heaven’s Gate
members talk about leaving the earth, and why
they were so happy : Maybe we never learn to be suspicious
of happiness : A man in Berlin told me there are ways to snort the moon
when it explodes and space is snowing : I guess if we can turn the moon
into powder sure as anything we can make the Lord god cry :
You know the joke where you hold up a naked hand
with something awful in it and say look
what I almost stepped in : I guess Life is a very long sentence
in a very pointless book : Shadow in the dark of some wizard’s
dream : Dead language in the ground of mass grave : Life is a Fiddler
on the Roof man churning the field of a lifeless Anatevka, singing
TRADITION, coming home every night to augur
stories in the dust of a bird bath until it is no longer
a question where the light comes from : Or
it’s the older brother’s arm of a previous century
pushing us into a lonely line dance at a loud country bar
where one by one our friends leave through different
windows, fire exits, key holes : You know the joke :
Just give me your biggest coffin : I’ll find friends
to fill it : No head is so big that it cannot be
crowned : Tonight I am writing you from above
Houston, I think : I can see its bright living
population : From here, maybe it’s obvious
that any god would cry : The way my father did
when fire took the hill behind our house, and we
had to choose what to save and what to leave
to flame : When, later, we took the dog
for one last hoo-rah in the pickup : Like god,
we loved him so much we gave him to fire :
Houston, you must know this already
but I’m telling you now : The dead have their city
and we have ours : When astronauts dream they dream
of floating ants, weightless hammers :
Today’s ash is a better day’s splendor
Jeff Whitney is the author of five chapbooks, two of which were co-written with Philip Schaefer. Recent poems can be found in 32 Poems, Adroit, Blackbird, Booth, Meridian, Prairie Schooner, Third Coast, and Verse Daily.