Creation

In the creation of the world it happened, a pain in my side. I felt it, a black hole lodged in my belly that wouldn’t let go. I tried to run, but there it was sucking everything inside me. It reminded me of my baby, but it was not. I hungered to be rid of it. The thirst was terrible. I drank and the sea filled up the land, and it fed my newborn child, and then – there was this man.

He was there, intertwined with my belly. He couldn’t break free. He wanted to. I could see that, for he tried to hide. He tried to pretend he was just stroking me. He touched my bosom with his other hand, and when I said, “Hold on there, hold on there, you man,” well then he was ready to strike me down. I wanted him gone. He weakened me. He was a black hole. He weakened me, and when I ate I couldn’t stop for feeding him as well. I ate and the islands floated on top of the waters, like fetuses in my womb.

That was the first day.

A fetus was in my womb and it floated in the firmament of my eyes. My womb turned inside out and drew the skin of my stars around the heavens. The moon awoke and began wailing to nurse. I suckled her, sliver of moon to quarter and half. I am traveling on a boat to my love, but this man is not him. I sail on my boat, the skin of my womb is my sail. I know it was meant to be someone else. My true love was meant to come, three slivers of moon in his eyes. But here stands this man, and holds me, suckling my baby’s milk, using it to nurse his secret plans. He will not come inside. He dares not.

Since then he has come and gone, as if to pretend he can. He lays his flesh on mine. I have sown the trees in the earth now, and put the waters in their flow. The rivers flowed like milk let down to nurse. Everything grows, but the man does not come inside. Nor does he go. He clings to me like a vine. He stretches to the vine’s limit and pretends he’s free and he dares not come inside.

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