Another Take on Creation
                     –a composition professor creates the world

Back then, before the pterodactyl opened
its prayer shawl in flight, before
the first cleft hoof plodded across mud,
claimed riverbed as music and confused
alibi with lullaby, before the ancestral
cockroach dreamed for eons of tenements,
there lived a woman who taught composition
to the unlettered heavens. Sometimes

she’d get bored and test the large
dumb pantheon on parallelism and syntax,
or lift her arms in joyous explication
and conjugate verbs to the early arachnids
who spent their days living geometry
and breathing silk. Soon, she was Eve
and Lucinda, Lilith, and the mother
of god; she fought with her genitals—

even then—until her hidden weapons
made visible the world to come.
Man was invented after language
was born. He came to clean up the place,
organize astronomy, the black grammar
of stars. But seeing woman busy in the
menstrual dawn of prehistory,
he felt compelled to reach inside

her sentences, to claim land-lordship
and bibliography, struggling to control
each windblown word that issued
from her mouth.