Poetry by Jael
by jael bietsch

In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
John 1:1

I want to be a word, without
time but shape in the secret
darkness like the rush
of a pulse, so real
it vibrates the air electric.
Shape like fire,
hot pavement burning up through
both bare soles and every bone
in one body at one
time. Thick as that catch of breath
at one given moment
smokey and damp and
heavy in the chest as joy.
Deceptive to the casual eye
that scans the point and fine blue surface
for sails and seagulls and brindled sky.
Real as the murky depths of her jewel,
warm and thick and scattered
with bloated fish that die
on her shore, softening in the sun.
As much to what this body draws nearer
in vain seduction of reality. Never
to peer through these blue eyes
some illusiory cliche
life, this face I don't recognize.
Crawling under this skin, again
following around this dull woman,
her rages and uncertainities,
pushing to realer existence
than the mirror, pushing
against the limits.
I want to be a word
as whole and round
and real on the page
as the shape and taste
on your tongue.

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    ©: 1995 Jael Bietsch

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    March 8, 2000