Untitled, by Radiance Angelina Petro



Radiance Angelina Petro




The first words of 2023 could go something like this:

Dear Lord, please help us fix this mess,


look—a road just opened that was never there before,


ssshh….come here…do you hear that?

Or maybe:  You take that end, bend at the knees,

watch your back—OK—on three.

It’s possible there won’t be any first words.

Perhaps it will be the sound of a bell—low,

and resonate, or the sound of a conch shell being blown

by someone, somewhere on the shores of an unknown sea.

Perhaps it will be the first light,

coming from a searchlight scanning the sky,


maybe it will come from inside you—

open your mouth and see—

it might shine from a source unknown

and land on the twelve-string sleeping in the corner.

Perhaps there won’t be a first word or first light.

Perhaps it will be the first darkness of many,

the first darkness of deep diving,

the first darkness just before the curtains part,

the first darkness of womb and night—waiting

for us to give birth to something, like hope,

or a forgotten strength, or maybe a new language—

unspoken, yet understood by every hand and heart,

perhaps it will be a humming, deep and rising—

revealed from the first morning that opens

her cloaks and shawls—a thrumming drone

hummed by everyone, everywhere,

ready, at any moment, to break

into song.