God You’re Hard to Buy For
God you’re hard to buy for, love,
with your deep pockets; that massive vault
I’ve never seen the whole of; and the fact
that you’re impossible to surprise.
You have so much already and it’s just
not right to give you a scrap less
than top-shelf perfection
but anyway, what DO you give someone
who needs nothing? Truly,
I appreciate you, and it’s not like I don’t see
the occasions coming every year –
the day we met; the day I realised you had
adored me for some time; the anniversaries of
that time you saved my skin, and when it all started,
or just something because you’re on my mind.
And you do enjoy gifts
given in clear-eyed love, but therein lies
the hitch: this wilted, plaquey heart
that ogles, kneads, gnaws and beats
itself in offset rhythm, forgetful of
your vows. I do remember
times I’ve scraped together some
resentful token, mad at you again because
of my disease and arrhythmia.
You were nice about it; said you saw how it
had cost me, but it wasn’t what you wanted.
Times I’ve thrown you stone-toothed,
headached ritual for weeks (or years) instead;
but the gift you want is not a me that’s pressed
into a starchy Sunday best, grumbling and stiff
in the designated spot, but instead
the me that rests between your shoulders.
Is it better, in those lead-browed times,
to give you a bad gift? To shove someone else’s
words into a sterile envelope? To face up
to having nothing to give? Or to the fact that
my shiniest, weightiest offerings were
bought with your own means in the first place?
My love, how do you stay?
Lee Fraser is from Aotearoa New Zealand and uses poetry for ogling life’s details, emotional archaeology, and comic relief. Her full-time occupations have included field linguist and parent. She has been published in Cordite, Ink Sweat & Tears, Meniscus, Micro Madness, ONE ART, NZ Poetry Society anthologies, Poetry Aotearoa Yearbook, Thimble and elsewhere. Some of her work is at leefraserpoetry.com
Amethyst Review 