Goddess Is A Frame of Mind

-- I saw a portrait of a wading pool with a goddess in the top right hand corner, and the idea of writing a monologue from her point of view came to mind. Be aware, this is intentionally exaggerated a.k.a. very inaccurate. --

“Goddess is a Frame of Mind”

In the wading pool
I have tilapia
Also monkeys
A crane or two

Blue and purple otters
That don’t normally exist in Egypt
Crawl around my throne
And build dams
Out of complimentary walnuts
Given to me as supplications

Today I am smiting a clan of herdsman
Because they refused to worship at my shrine
They will have welts on their backs
The size of full-grown snapping turtles
And their daughters will be hairy
And impertinent

Later there will be a rainstorm
That is much needed
So that grain can be grown
And wheat bread made
That can be placed at my altar
But so help them
If they spread chickpeas on it

Today is my day
By the wading pool
But I might wander off
Though it is not recommended

The other day
I was lounging at the marketplace
Looking for a ripe tomato

I can make the children of my enemy
Be born with three eyes
And limp like a cripple
But a ripe tomato is beyond my power

I met a woman in the market
She was selling pottery
Poorly made and mostly chipped
And obviously they were not flying off the shelves

The woman looked distraught
So I revealed myself as Zisa, the goddess
Even though at the time
I was disguised as an old woman with leprosy

The woman sat me down
And fed me dinner
Even though there wasn’t much
Luckily I had stolen a few ripe tomatoes

She explained that the pottery business
Was suffering in the lax economy
Due to the old pharaoh importing from Greece
And the emergence of a non-breakable pottery
Sold exclusively through the Hosea clan
At special stalls in certain markets
Usually at the end of an aisle

I asked her why she was not married yet
She informed me that she had an old father
Who needed constant care
And frequent foot rubs

I would have smothered him with my thighs
Despite the discomfort
Of having dead man's drool on me
Mercy is mercy

Her father died a week ago
But now she was too old to marry
For who would want a wretched twenty-four year-old?
And one with no dowry
Other than chipped water bowls

She had caught me at a lucky time
I had already smited a few people that day
So my blood thirst was sated
And I wasn’t due back to lounge at my wading pool
For another few hours
When Ra would return
And expect thunderous intercourse
So I resolved to aid her poor old soul

I took her to the fabric tents
On the west side of the marketplace
And had her try on several robes
Designed by the winner
Of Egypt’s most illustrious fashion contest
Style of the Nile
Where every week someone was eliminated
By being stoned to death
In the public square

There was a particular incident
Where a flamboyant designer was so audacious
He decided to make a garment out of asp skin
And it was my own personal stone that put him
Out of his creative misery

None of the robes fit my new protégé
Who I named Tomato
After the fruit that had brought us together
Her body was shapely
Like a disgusting gourd
And when fitted with fabric
It made her look
Like a half deben zuza
Ready to lie down on papyrus
And open herself
For every scribe on his lunch break

I had her draped instead
Wrapped again and again
Until she looked like a swaddled child
Which produced a much better result
Since her face was surprisingly pretty
Much like my sister goddess, Isis
Back before she hit the wall
Doing too much smiting
And karooking on the same day

Then it was time to find Tomato a husband
For if she was not married
She might as well throw herself
Into the nearest hungry slave pit
And both of us knew it

I found her a man
A farmer outside of the city
Who was recently widowed
With six children
None of them disfigured
Although one had a surly temper

I instructed Tomato
That after she married the man
She was to whip the surly boy
Until he called her Momma
And fed her grapes

The man was resistant at first
He wanted a new wife
But also a young one
Not Tomato
Who at twenty-four
Is almost as old as the sun god

I convinced him to take her in
By telling him that if he did not
His balls would fall from his body
And his teeth would follow them

Soon after that
He became much more agreeable
To the idea of marrying
My Tomato

When I left her
She was getting set up
In her new home
I helped her pick out a throne
For every woman
Even ones who are not goddesses
Need a proper throne

I instructed her to obey her husband
Until he goes off into the fields
And then take a young lover
Perhaps one of her stepsons
Two of whom were older than she
To keep her cheeks rosy
And her hair shiny

My other command was to get a monkey
And a wading pool
Filled with tilapia

‘Some will tell you it is an affront to Zisa
But as long as you bring me ripe tomatoes
And leave them at my altar
It will be allowed’

She kissed my feet
And thanked me many times
I told her to stop
But secretly I was counting
Making sure she hit the required amount of thanks
Which is twenty-seven
Before finally rising
And then bowing once again

‘Remember, my little old Tomato’

I told her

‘Goddess is a frame of mind’

With that
I disappeared
Back to my own wading pool
Where Ra would be doing the waiting