Hello,
I’ve crafted myself a god
from the kind of modelling clay
you fire in your kitchen oven.
I can lift my god with my hands,
carry god around.
Look, my god has fourteen heads,
each one mounted on its own elegant neck —
fourteen necks rising like lissom saplings
from square, sinewy shoulders —
a bare, milky torso — a belt
encrusted with jewels and shells.
Each head alternates in gender
and when you turn my god around
god ages, then is suddenly young.
When I am hungry, I think
how my god was born in a kitchen.
When I am lonely
I gently touch god’s navel.
I’m ashamed to admit it —
my hands are not as subtle with
the clay as I would like them to be,
it may be difficult for you
to make out
the bellybutton,
or distinguish the features on all of the faces.
And adding so much glitter to the belt
before I put god in the oven, was a mistake.
I’ve got an old OXO tin,
for collecting any small change.
I’m saving up to buy more packets of clay.
Would you like to make a donation?
I’ve knocked on all the doors
this side of town.
Stuart Charlesworth was shortlisted by Jennifer Wong in the 2021 Live Canon poetry competition, by Will Harris in the 2020 Rialto pamphlet competition. They were commended by Pascale Petit in the 2018 Brittle Star competition and in 2021 by judges of the Hippocrates prize. Stuart has an MA in Creative Writing from UEA, is a learning disabilities nurse and helps run Café Writers.