The Return of Job

by Anna Kamienska

Job didn't die
didn't throw himself under a train
didn't croak in a vacant lot
the chimney didn't spew him out
despair didn't finish him off
he arose from everything
from misery dirt
scabs loneliness

How much more authentic a dead Job would be
even after death shaking his fist at the God of pain
But Job survived
washed his body of blood sweat pus
and lay down in his own house again
New friends were already gathering
a new wife was breathing new love into his mouth
new children were growing up with soft hair
for Job to touch with his hands
new sheep donkeys oxen were bellowing
shaking new shackles in the stable
kneeling on straw

But happy Job didn't have the strength to be happy
afraid he'd betray happiness by a second happiness
afraid he'd betray life by a second life
Wouldn't it be better for you Job
to rot in a lost paradise with the dead
than to wait now for their nightly visit
they come in dreams they envy you life
Wouldn't it be better happy Job
to remain dirt since you are dirt
The pustules washed off your hands and face
ate through your heart and liver
You will die Job
Wouldn't it be better for you
to die with the others
in the same pain and mourning
than to depart from this new happiness
You walk in the dark
wrapped in darkness
among new people
useless as a pang of conscience
You suffered through pain
now suffer through happiness

And Job whispered stubbornly Lord Lord