A poem written during a day spent workshopping at the Nirox Sculpture Park, visit it and you will see many of these gods sitting with you.
Cradle Of Humanity
I wonder how deep these waters are,
I have heard a giant drowned here,
hit the ground
and only their fingers are protruding,
I have used them as stepping-stones.
The elephants are ancestors
and they call this their graveyard,
I sat with a man
dressed in stone
at the lakeside,
he only breathes at night,
is as large as light,
tells stories only to statues,
is sure their shoulders
can boulder the wait.
I haven’t moved in days now.
And the waters are rising,
but I’ve started writing
these stories one pebble
at a time,
this is how giants
learn to drown.
Children of the stars,
you’ve carved your names
into meteorites once,
your skeletons made of black granite,
caves within your mouth,
this is where we come
back to pray.
I live in the right nostril
of a sinking god,
I tickle their breath when I laugh,
I go searching for their skull
for I have heard
this is where
ancient hieroglyphs have been carved.
Not unlike you,
I too misplace
my giants far too often,
they’re adept at hid and seek,
are large enough
to hide within themselves.
They’ve made mountains of these oceans,
swallowed a cloud
and burped out a rain queen,
she only dances
for falling bodies.
We have jumped off her shoulders,
for she prayed for us
to come home.
What sparkling beams of light
lit up the night
when god sneezed,
this holy be contagious.
A rusted chain
inside your throat
you used to drag out
a holy mountain top,
you have given CPR
to a rockslide,
I have heard
a god almost drowned here
and you thought
your breath not divine,
not a thing to build
continents with.
How many almost-humans
have you saved with your tongue,
how many more descendants
dangle from your lips
as a lifeline,
or scratch your skull
searching for their origins,
you’re where the beginning begins,
how can it be
that dead ancestors
are the only ones that exist,
you know this,
your muscle memory
is made up of iintsomi
that you will tell to your kids,
you hold them
from disappearing
and even their children feel this.
Look how you make sculpture of a dream,
freeze the wind
so it can find a body to live in,
You’ve done this many times before,
the tide is falling
and you’ve started breathing,
I almost fall off a stepping-stone
because your fingers are wriggling,
you hold me in your palm
and my home is your mouth,
and your nose, and your breath
is a rockslide
and all your children
come tumbling out,
the waters are only as deep
for as long as you allow yourself to drown,
to fall through the sky
and never allow yourself
to hit the ground.
As I turn to statue,
I wonder who I can give
these pebbles to,
and the tide takes me.
Children of the stars,
come back to the waters,
your ancestors are calling.
Eating My Skin 