The Creation


Woman was made so clothes would have something
to wear. So shoes would find company, hair,

finely braided, hanging down the shoulders of an
unloose woman. A tight-fitting skirt, finding knees

Some lappa suit, carved out of unyielding things.
Stiff fingers, sewing and sewing, until fabric

attaches itself to permanent skin. All the lost hours
and lost sleep, just so fabric can find sliding ground

on the back of a woman, feeding herself on scraps
of unwanted love in a city, long lost to map builders.

Woman was made so pavement would have feet
to carry. Loads of sharp heels, bare, only to shoes.

So feet would know the forgetfulness that comes
with stepping, the forgetfulness of twisting not just

to the rhythm of new love. Woman was made
so men would have trouble to fall into. Like a ditch,

dug so deep, falling into it only creates deep scars
in an already scarred heart. Woman was made

so worry would have a place to lease, so the sun
would find moon, so moon would have daylight

to blame for its own disappearance, so worry
would burn down the throat of some lonely man.

Woman was made to put the world in places where
place cannot hold earth. Woman, carved crudely

out of the beauty of ugliness, out of scarred pieces
of pain. Beauty, out of all the broken parts of a broken

city, where the heart has forgotten how to mend.
Woman was built out of corrugated pieces of zinc,

just so the earth would rebuild, so pain would forget
how to be. Earth, finding erectness in the small,

bent, carved places, where the world has been so
long broken, there is no longer any unmaking.

Woman was made to remake other women into
other hard pieces of burnt clay. So the clothing

we wear could talk to other clothing we can’t wear.
Woman was made from scarred tissues of metal,

from the firmness of a brick wall, iron pieces
standing up at last for something. So tears

would have a face to wear, so pain would have
something to carry around, so the earth would

find the heart to heal all the brokenness of ruin.
Woman was made to unmake a man the way

you unmake a face the way you undo, to rewind
the corrugated heart of a world, too long broken.