LXV | Creation
❦
The parrot doesn’t return.
There’s no one to tell me
what the whispering means.
Nothing happens.
I don’t have anything with me.
I ran out without my phone.
I don’t know how to reach Rowan.
I turn away
from the rowan tree
and
everything
goes black.
I breathe
but I can’t hear myself breathing.
I look down
but I can’t see myself moving.
This is freaky.
‘I want to go back,’
I say.
Then, I hear
a familiar voice.
‘O have been waiting for you.’
It’s Nya-Nya.
Rowan’s winged donkey.
‘Where are you?!’
I’m shouting,
but I can’t hear my own voice.
‘You’ll see me on the sixth day.’
Sixth day?
What the #*%&?
❦
I don’t know
how much time passes
in this void
of nothingness.
It’s neither cold or hot,
there’s no sensation.
It’s nothing.
LET THERE BE LIGHT.
Suddenly,
a blinding flash.
Through red eyelids,
I see the silhouette
of my arms
shielding my eyes.
Then I see…
Rocks.
Water.
Fire.
Everything’s suspended
like some sci-fi movie.
Everything else
is black.
I feel ground beneath my feet,
but I don’t have any feet.
Nothing more happens.
Water rushes in,
consuming the rocks,
spitting them out.
Consuming them.
Spitting them out.
The donkey’s low voice:
‘This is the first day.’
❦
I ask the Eeyore to show itself
but the stupid donkey doesn’t
respond.
At some point,
I fall asleep
because the light returns,
stinging my eyes like the first time.
LET THERE BE A SKY.
There’s mist
and fog
and clouds
and now
I can hear myself breathe.
The rocks and water and fire
suspended in the darkness
is obscured.
The darkness
is painted
over and
over and
over
until it turns
into a light shade of blue.
The water
is flattened,
separated
from the mist and fog and clouds.
It’s a sea, I realise.
The donkey’s low voice:
‘This is the second day.’
❦
Again, a pause.
Why? Is God tired?
Why is he taking a break
when things aren’t
finished yet?
‘What’s this?’
—the donkey’s voice—
‘Are you curious?’
The world
stirs
as if God heard me
complaining.
LET THE WATERS GATHER.
LET DRY LAND APPEAR.
It takes all day
for the greedy dancing water
to let go of the rock.
I watch,
like it’s some sort of
performance art.
LET THE LAND BRING FORTH PLANTS
AND SELF-YIELDING FRUIT.
After the interlude,
green tendrils sprout.
(Some turn brown to match the ground.)
There’s all sorts
of plants
growing,
twisting,
flowering,
and I feel like
I’m watching a timelapse video
on YouTube.
Colours
appear
like blush on Rowan’s face.
With no body,
I leave no footprints.
So I wander
wherever I like.
It’s just a dream anyway.
The trees,
the plants,
the grass,
are alive.
There is nothing dead.
The donkey’s low voice:
‘This is the third day.’
❦
I can’t touch anything I see
but I want to.
To see if it’s real.
To see if it’s fake.
I want to wake up from this dream
because it’s better than trying to explain it to you.
The leaves,
the flowers,
the fruits,
it makes their lookalikes
in the real world
look fake
and dead.
LET THERE BE STARS
TO MARK THE SEASONS AND DAYS.
A bright light
appears in the middle of the sky.
A light
I can’t look at
because it turns my vision
blood red.
It’s the sun.
It moves along the sky
and I follow it
like some homeless nomad.
As the sun touches
the horizon,
the earth darkens.
The eternal light
now fades
for a time
and in the perfect darkness
I can see the other planets
shining
in the sky.
The biggest one
is breathing.
The donkey’s low voice:
‘This is the fourth day.’
❦
I can tell when the fifth day
starts now
—because of the rising of the sun.
LET THE WATERS BE FILLED WITH LIFE.
The sky,
which felt like a piece of canvas
painted over
with layers of watercolours,
starts to breathe.
Just like the plants,
creatures appear,
like someone’s drawing them
into being.
They test out their wings,
knowing they already
work.
The seas and rivers also,
start to bubble.
Shadows form
beneath the surface
and start to move.
A dolphin
jumps out of the water,
dive back in again.
That’s when I realise
the world has sound.
A white parrot
circles my head,
lands on a nearby
rowan tree.
It looks at me
with beady red eyes.
‘This is the fifth day,’ it says.
❦
LET THE EARTH BE FILLED WITH LIFE.
Lumps of dirt and dust
begin to move,
begin to have colour,
begin to make noise.
I see animals
I’ve never seen before.
Dinosaurs.
Mammoths.
I listen
to the first roar.
The ground trembles
but it isn’t scared.
I don’t think
fear
exists.
Hoof beats.
A familiar creature.
Only this one
has no wings.
It brays.
And wings grow on its back
(evolution fast-forward)
and I notice it’s Nya-Nya
only after the donkey speaks,
‘We meet at last.’
No we don’t, I want to say.
Because I still have no body.
As if he heard,
LET US MAKE MAN IN OUR IMAGE
TO RULE OVER THE EARTH.
From the dust rises
a mould of man
like a two-dimensional picture.
A lump of clay,
refined until it breathes.
From the man
something is removed
and the woman
comes into being.
I look down at myself
and I see my hands
and the rest of me.
I’m naked.
The other two humans
don’t seem to mind,
they’re talking and walking,
exploring their surroundings
as if it’s the most natural
thing to do.
Eeyore’s low voice:
‘This is the sixth day.’
My hands
instinctively cover
the place between
my legs.
I’m not a pervert.
❦
BE FRUITFUL AND MULTIPLY.
SUBDUE THE EARTH AND CARE FOR ITS CREATURES.
FOR ALL I HAVE CREATED
IS GOOD.
I didn’t feel anything
during this whole
bizarre
cinematic
show
but suddenly,
my legs give out
and I start to cry.
The world around me
is throbbing with energy
and I sit
in the middle of everything,
tired,
stressed,
and dying.
The sounds of life
are replaced
with my own wailing
my own anguish
my own sorrow.
For the first time,
I feel what being alive
really means.
I am a monster.
My hands and feet have gone numb.
I want to leave this place.
I need to get out of here.
Everything here, in this dream
is alive.
I don’t belong.
I am dead.
Someone is talking to the donkey.
(Maybe the parrot.)
I can’t hear it.
Someone’s noisy.
I’m the one screaming though.
My lungs hurt.
My chest hurts.
I can’t breathe.
This world is rejecting me.
I’m clawing
at my neck
for air
even though
there’s plenty of it.
I feel death.
I feel it,
I’ve always been feeling it!
Up close,
upfront,
my first time.
A voice,
drowned out by mine.
Warmth wraps around my waist.
Warm hands.
It’s alive.
I recoil.
It holds me tight.
Holding this
crappy mess
that I’ve
become.
❦
