Poetry Tuesday: Genesis

I know. Poetry Tuesday isn’t a thing. At least not around here. But I did want to share something bookish people will enjoy. And Catholic bookish people will enjoy it even more. This poem is from the latest Dappled Things Catholic literary magazine which I got a few days ago. The magazine has original art, poetry, fiction, reviews, and interviews. If you haven’t encountered it, you need to investigate their website and also try a subscrition.

Now to the poetry. I’m more of a “rhyming poem” gal, but I love the images in this piece, even though it is nontraditional.

Genesis
Abigail Carroll

We read that the Word
spoke forth creation, but
I’m not so sure creation
wasn’t sung into being,

and not exactly hummed,
though the insects might
have appeared with hardly
an opening of the mouth.

The sun, on the other hand,
was spun from delicate
but forceful arias—thus,
the operatic nature of light.

Out of a bass-line, deep
blue tones—the kind you
rarely hear until they are
no longer there—whales.

Ostriches sprang from
strange improvisations,
Elephants are echoes
of ancient, sacred chants.

I imagine larkspur, phlox,
and clover are the progeny
of nursery rhymes repeated
quaintly, readily, musingly,

as if their meaningless
were their purpose, as if
they were made for nothing
more than loveliness. Stars,

in their totality, emerged
not from a tune, but rather
a soft and knowing noise:
a buzz, a kind of celestial

purr, a note so perfectly
content with itself that
it sparked, became what
it dreamed: a universe.