Saturday, December 13, 2003

"Your Touch," from Carrying Place

In other centuries, other creatures'

fantasies, on a prehistoric day dense

with heat, some small mammal

brushed the neck of its mate

and ushered in our possibility.


When you have found the place

between my shoulder and

my head, that tough band

that runs in my family

up the neck, you will reach through

the veil of my hair, and press

the weight of history

upon my skin.


You will touch me and

I will remember my first lesson

in evolution: in caves there are fish

who have lost their eyes.

In the dark grottos, the deep waters

they need only touch.


Builders poised on the upper beams

of a tower hauling themselves

into the immaculate

openness of space,

we push into each other, blind

to the future we penetrate.



- Esta Spalding


(via Anansi Press poem of the day | Dec 13, 2003)