Jeanette Lynes - gospel of a minor tributary

the sweet smell of the water—and finally, the sense of being carried
by a current I could not name or change.
                  —Marie Howe, "The Dream"

'Count your blessings' you were trained; even when they're in disguise
divide by two. When Santa brings one sock, say thanks
for stopping by. You get the picture—or half of it, at least.
Aspire to be wizard's aid, not
The Wizard Himself. Some things are not for us to know. This way, you'll never
be treated for hubris. Learn to live by halves. That way, you'll never need
a halfway house. This is the gospel of Saugeen Flats, this lore
those who swallow swallow whole. And that water
glass question, the answer's half-empty. Don't confuse God's irrigation plan with
the sweet smell of the water—and finally, the sense of being carried

down the devil's waterslide into a whirlpool of pride. Remember, wet
or dry, you come from a minor tributary of a small river running
into a tertiary lake one picnics beside. Certainly no lovers. So don't beget
fancy ideas or if you must, keep them secret as Mary's snowy
conception. Deny any sex though if forced to confess, say you closed
your eyes and thought of the queen, say everything can be better. God
didn't lay down those waterways for your sloth, personal gain.
Should you commit the ultimate putting-on of airs, writing, strike all
the 'I's'. Should any 'I' survive, say, on Judgement Day, it happened
by a current I could not name or change.