prescience doesn’t require supernatural powers

shoutout to my nonna’s palm-sized ribboned Italian bible

I want to lie face up in a field
with field mice nibbling at the blonde hairs
on my goose-bump filled arms.
I want to scan the sky for a cloud shaped like a teddy bear
and another like my best friend’s ass.

I want to observe you
leaving your fingerprints everywhere
so that I may find you again
lifetimes from now
like a hieroglyphic on the wall of an ancient Egyptian cave.

And we’ll stare out at the convergence of sky and sea,
two blues doing their best to understand the other’s particular shade.
We’ll ask each other questions like:
Do you think the Black Death changed people’s views on faith and time?
Was God really responsible? For any of this?
Why didn’t we just call the robber barons capitalists?
[Not sure they deserved a title with that much swag].
Why wasn’t Mary Magdalene one of the 12 disciples of Christ? Is it because she asked too many questions?
If churches are the house of God, why does God need so much real estate?
If the United States Constitution is really a living instrument, why hasn’t it vomited by now?
Why on earth did King James fear witches so damn much?
Do you believe in divine justice?

Is mystery still growing in you?
Are you happy now?

And if you say no,
I’ll say,
God forbid you take an expansive view of yourself.
You’ll probably laugh coyly
and remind me that not that much time has passed.
When time has had its way with us,
I’ll throw a boomerang to the moon
and run the other way
leaving it to fall back into your hands.