In the Beginning
In the beginning
the continents spread, divided
like a fertilized egg.
Inside my mother I pulsed
like a wound, the kind you prod.
Then I slipped out of her womb,
swam towards God’s mouth.
My gooey eyelids opened. The salt
stung them. When I saw her from
the outside, her eyes looked sad:
Jellyfish hair, dragged up in bundles,
fingernails bitten too far down.
Now we hold hands
in a big blue bed,
dance like rooted seaweed. This
is our place now,
on the border of God’s mouth.
Tongue veined with salt, lips
My mother once thought of leaving,
drew a map towards another land,
but then shore tore it up. She
didn’t know what to do
with her hands.