Apocrypha of Light
On the first day, light said
Let there be God.
And there was God.
Light needed shape to move inside,
a likeness tawny and thick-maned.
It strode into the absence we call night
and what it tongued
sparked visible then glowed,
warmed by its golden spittle.
It splashed and rolled in water
till rivers and seas could not be parted
from its gleam. It lingered
on the hourglass
of August pears; on blackbird,
bear scat, calves’ blood;
on the hand of the beloved,
it’s unlikely flare.
It went everywhere, glossed all
that waited to be seen. At last
it slipped into the farthest corner –
there, it stumbled. Stopped.
Hid its brightness and would not move.
What in the dark did it wish it hadn’t found?
Not arbutus limbs, an otter’s head
just above the sea; not orange pips,
fish fin, a panther’s muscled plush.
Now you make a list of things.
Remember light’s likeness, remember
this is the beginning of the first day.
Lorna Crozier
what it means
This is an origin myth about the start of the world except in this version Light is the originator and makes God as well as everything else. Light is powerful but not all powerful.
We all need to make an origin myth. We all need to know what is in our dark.
why I like it
Rachel Rose suggested I read Crozier after I told her I was working on poems about the Bible. So, I like that Crozier’s taken on this same project. I happen to love Bible stories and origin myths and variations there of. I like this image of the initial power of the world being like a lion licking us into being. But, I picked this poem for the “Now you make a list of things.” That line gives me shivers every time, how it turns to the reader and makes them think about what in the dark they wish they hadn’t found.
craft
Well, that line “Now you make a list of things” is breaking the fourth wall. How often do I turn and address the reader? Never. The lists she makes of where light lands and where it doesn’t are so interesting. She jumps from the natural world to the hand of the beloved from the quotidian orange pips to the romantic and powerful panther. Poems are supposed to juxtapose and surprise us like this. Note to self.