Belief in Deities by Karen Cline-Tardiff

      Jill Robidoux CC




Belief in Deities

Curled tightly beneath my grandmother’s afghan on our second-hand couch, I feel like the child who slept in a Spring backyard tent. Burrito-tucked into that hand crocheted kaleidoscope, my eyes search for the stars through the fuzzy skylight screen. Moonlight bathing the tent gently enough to keep the fear of bears and wolves away. I screw my eyes shut and imagine I can hear the crickets and cicada serenading the moon, each playing in their own majestic orchestra of one.  

You chastise me, call me a dreamer, say I need to get back to reality. There is no need to burden myself with the pain of being outside: among people, breathing their germs, repulsed by their smells, and barraged by their non-stop din of words, words, words. Just talking to hear themselves speak, their voices an insult to the air used to push the words from their lungs.

I wasn’t always like this. Before the planet stopped spinning and we all were forced to shutter ourselves into tiny balls of survival. We bounced off each other and tried to create our own gravity. The fear outside began to creep under the door, seep through the windows, entrap us where we thought we were safe. Soon we were like magnets, our poles pushing against one another, forcing us to a safe distance. I set up camp on the couch and you retreated to the bedroom; bedroom to couch a chasm we tried to navigate, a river we couldn’t cross. 

In the Bible there is the story of Noah, who lived 40 days and 40 nights with his family and collected animals and all their literal shit. It was a dove which brought them the good news, a hope for land nearby. The Mayans tell of the tiniest hummingbird who was actually the sun in disguise, waiting for the moon who never came, the love of its life. Perhaps the eagle conspicuously perched on our patio is a sign from God, the Native American belief the Creator is coming to cleanse the empty streets, let the skies stay blue, send our prayers to the heavens.

Today, I remain snuggled and safe. I have lost my belief in deities. I long for star shine sneaking in through crocheted netting, the pre-Covid touch of your lips in the crook of my neck, the low sound of the cicada creating waves upon the water. I put my faith in the hope of birds.




​Karen Cline-Tardiff has been writing since she could hold a pen. Her work has appeared in multiple online and print journals. She runs Gnashing Teeth Publishing. Find her at karenthepoet.com
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