In the Beginning, Now
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro
The day the banished couple
Sat desperately trying to sew together
The leaves of paradise, was the day
Poetry was born.
To attempt to go back you must walk
In pure sound and naked images,
You must grapple with knowing
The tree of life is still yours
And what, if anything, are you going to do
About it?
The snake was just being a snake,
And by that I do not mean—evil—
I mean whatever the next thought is
When trying to flesh out the creator,
I mean, whatever the next thing is
You do when you realize your nakedness—
Let these ideas, and all others, scatter, like
So many puffs of the dandelion,
Let any shame be gone, and your power be now,
Let your wonder become tears,
And your tears become words.
