echoes
the presidio, san francisco, california
echoes
Once, you spoke and the darkness
itself moved, like the sound of icy rivers
melting, only there weren’t any rivers yet
to compare it to.
Once, you spoke and it was somehow a song,
like the sound of dolphins playing on the shores
of Half Moon Bay, only there weren’t any dolphins,
or bays, or the moon,
for that matter.
Once, you hovered, humming
to yourself, like electricity
in the wires stretched above the long highway, tangled
in between the dense coastal greenery, only there wasn’t any electricity
or minds with that idea,
not yet.
Once, you breathed, inspired, and there was a light
where there wasn’t before, like the crackle
of a match against the box, and the woosh and steady flicker
of a wick, only there weren’t any candles,
or like the pounding of the heart when gazing
at the Milky Way through the telescope propped up
on the lawn in the middle of the night, only there weren’t stars,
or lawns, or galaxies,
or hearts.
And the darkness split in two
with some kind of unceasing joy, for once willing
to share space because of the sound
of a world being made, like great gusts
of wind, and bird songs, and ticking clocks
and laughter and boiling water and the way ideas sound
when they spill from your excited mouth,
like the wind chimes on the porch, and the delicate bow
caressing the strings of a violin and an orchestra
swelling like the water pounding onto the rocky shore
with all the energy the sea can muster,
or like a D-major-seventh chord
played softly on the piano like a prayer,
or vegetables covered
in oil, the ordinary offering
fragrant, golden,
and sizzling, only, there wasn’t food,
or instruments, or metal,
or strings, or people, or brains,
or mouths. There wasn’t even water,
or breath.
There was only the anticipating quiet,
like standing at the peak
of a mountain on a still day, just before
the sun sets.
And then, all of a sudden, and all at
once, your voice broke
through the dark and lonely silence,
and there was.
And the newborn world filled up it’s lungs
with it’s very first breath,
and echoed your voice. for part of the hope*writers writing week challenge, day one (voice)
