When my father confronted me,
Consumed by chilled confusion,
As to how I could not only doubt,
But actually lack belief in His God,
When the evidence was so abundant,
We were all but drowning in it?
He wasted no time,
Launching his barrage of familiar missiles;
‘ How were we to survive without
His buoyant life-boat carrying us ashore?
Why would we want to live,
Without another life after this one chance?
When could you hold people accountable,
Without judgements from an immutable source?
Where could all of everything come from,
If not our little slice of nothing?
What could possibly be the point of a world,
Created by the chaos of an unstewarded universe?
Who would even want to live in a world,
Not prescribed to us by a covenant made ex parte?’
With a copy of The Martian Chronicles in my hand,
Purchased by Him for my birthday,
I only had the composure to answer his final question,
By volunteering.
My reflection in my Father’s eye immediately fractured,
In a way I had never seen and now forever unable to forget.
Now the unforgettable anchor memory of disappointment,
Beautifully softened by his simply clumsy love,
Which has never been dimmed by his confusion of,
How/why/when/where/what/who I am and will be,
Living in a world unrecognizable.