“How incredible… we [are] blessed to even have this surgery that we have. We’re so advanced. If Cleopatra were alive now, I’m sure she’d have triple D’s.” –Heidi Montag
The image is what we want
to destroy, not God. God can stay
in the forms we like:
in mega churches, in the 22 karat cross
at our necks, in the prayers for prosperity
whispered between our plumped lips.
The image itself is past its prime.
Useful, maybe, in biblical times,
when we needed certain things
to be sturdy: hips, hands, chests.
When we needed to tell danger
by our faces. When we slept
in tents, and died young.
The image is useless to us now,
and what we are is unsuited
to this present life, to this current face.
We are not on watch at the city walls; we are not bent
at the waist to bring up the harvest.
The image is ours to make and remake—
this is our new right; and we are still God’s own,
though we come, some say, unrecognizable
to his gate.
Photo by Andy Hares on Flickr
