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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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First Memory

 

 

 

I am born from a rib,

a useless extra bone,

the one nearest the heart,

plucked as easily

as a twig from a tree,

neither the same nor clone,

to grow together and apart.

 

God's fingers take to give.

Part child, part man,

alive as an afterthought,

you are so I am

all that he is not.

 

Is there one among us

who can recall gliding,

frictionless, soundless

from the first world,

who can tell us what

nothingness is?

 

I am the last to leave.

I carry a cleft inside me.

I lean on the precipice

to ferry souls from the abyss.

 

                         -Myra Pearson