The Academi Cardiff International Poetry Competition

Linda Rogers

It Was Elephants

Some scientist has unveiled a gene for loving
God, and I wondered if it could be a cross
your heart X chromosome carrying the
monoamine for faith to the incandescent mind.
Do women light up more easily than men?
When I was a child, I believed that songs were
sung by tiny goddesses hidden inside the radio.
Today my granddaughter looked inside my printer
and thanked the deity for giving her a picure.
Does she know something I’ve forgotten?
I do remember when the shape changer
showed Itself in clouds, the Almighty elephants
and mice scrambling for mouse holes in heaven.
Is God hiding in the fragrance of lilies
in the once legendary gardens of Baghdad?

Is the gene for genius given to women who
know how to connect the "I" to the "us"?

Margaret Hassan is dead. Today the sun is
so bright it hurts to look. I have covered my
eyes with a scarf. Today I want to hear everything;
my granddaughter’s tiny voice giving thanks,
the sky walking children in the park, laughing,
touching clouds with their feet, swinging toward
the holes in the sky where the angel of light
fell from grace when men envied flight.
I want to be one with Margaret Hassan, who
died on her knees in the dark. I want to see
what she saw when her assassins blindfolded her.
It may have been clouds floating by. I have seen
the faces of condemned men the last time they
look up. Perhaps she stumbled
and touched one of her persecutors, passing on
the holy fire. Perhaps he reacted with a surge of
love or lust. Did Margaret Hassan, whose eyes
were covered by cowards without mercy see
mice running for cover or elephants on parade
when the bullet exploded her beautiful mind.