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From The Stack Of Print On My Bedside Floor, Two By Lucille Clifton

Posted by Kerri Anne in literary leanings on Jul 31st, 2005 | no responses

the birth of language

and adam rose
fearful in the garden
without words
for the grass
his fingers plucked
without a tongue
to name the taste
shimmering in his mouth
did they draw blood
the blades did it become
his early lunge
toward language
did his astonishment
surround him
did he shudder
did he whisper
eve

————————————

the garden of delight

for some it is stone
bare smooth
as a buttock
rounding
into the crevasse
of the world

for some
it is extravagant
water mouths
wide
washing together
forever for some
it is fire
for some air

and for some
certain only of the syllables
it is the element they
search their lives for

eden

for them
it is a test

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English nerdery

So I’ve built a wooden heart, inside this iron ship, to sail these blood red seas and find your coasts. Don’t let these waves wash away your hopes, no. This war-ship is sinking, and I still believe in anchors. Pulling fist-fulls of rotten wood from my heart, oh I still believe in saviors. Because we are all made out of shipwrecks, every single board washed and bound like crooked teeth on these rocky shores, so come on and let’s wash each other, with tears of joy and tears of grief and fold our lives like crashing waves and run up on this beach.

-Listener, from Wooden Heart