Which God Were You?

Which God were you? The one
who bathed me in the kitchen sink
when I was small enough to fit?

Who made the camel kneel
and the cow low? Who drove the fish
up the canal to spawn under

piers that reeked of creosote?
Who blessed and cursed me
with the dream of fidelity?

Who wore the ice caps like
a fool’s hat, who drove the clown car?
Who made a Calvary of sumac

blasting from the pavement?
Who blazed out with the Chanukkah candles
before bed then cut the Christmas lights?

Who stroked me under the covers
when the fever hit and sleep slept?
Who reminds me I’m both father and son

and splits the sky unevenly between
the day and night? Who covers darkness
with a deeper dark? Who wakes me

with the light? Bathe me with the light.