Before The Word

The dark had no mouth.It was a blind hide hungnary, and lipless.No hinge.No throb or count.Only a black animalchewing its unborn teeth.

Everything floatedlike organs without a body,red fishforgetting the sea.

Then,the first word.It camelike an axe remembering wood.

Stones buttoned themselves shut.Even the duststood upto answer.

Now every letteris a vertebra.I drag the alphabetbehind melike a spinepulled from another woman.

The nouns breed.Their square little mouthskeep eating the wilderness.

How clean they are.How murderous.Every sentencelocks another door.

I cannot crawl backinto the enormous wombwhere nothing had a face,where even terrorwas merciful enoughto have no name.

Speech is the knifeI keep swallowing.Silencewaits beneath it,hairless,patient,opening its black palms.

If the word leaves me,I will becomethat first darkness again,skin without blood,

a throat still waitingfor Godto speak.