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Well, I started with the easy bits: divided
Light from dark, and the land from the watery deeps;
Made sun and moon (pure light and its reflection)
Then set about the creatures: flying, running, swimming –
Lots of lovely forms of life.

And then I fashioned him – of the clay, of the earth –
Spat on it to bind,
and set him up. Breathed on him, and he lived. He moved, he did –
But he couldn’t be alone. The others all had mates.
So then I made him sleep, and from his living flesh
I fashioned her: a part of him, yet different.
I made her in my image.
He could obey; but she could think and feel.
And so she did. And she could disobey,
and do for him and her, do for them both.

It got out of control, once I’d disowned them –
Their babies murderous, son killing son,
and gradually I lost all interest.
Can you blame me? A bloody, perverse, milling lot,
knowing yet ignorant, just blundering
from sin to noisy sin. Ugh! I wanted out –
I wanted to be free of clogging clay.

And so, quite carefully, I took
The pretty blue-green world that I’d created,
Shook the salty water from its sides,
and popped it, whole, into my mouth.

Burning in the middle,
but cool enough on the outside,
still a bit salty, and rather tasted of clay.

© Dale Mitchell, January 2007