Between Two Rivers

On two births. After an exercise by Dorianne Laux.

1.
Like me, the universe
was born by accident.

Out of a firework there
burst a cloud of rose

petals: soft blades aflame
in a void, crashing into 

and out of themselves 
violently without rhyme

or reason. Their fire
made the earth burning

beneath my feet.
As with love, so life.

2.
Later, I spied a strange 
face penned in the glassy 

mirror of the sea.
No one told me it was

not me, but mine.
Its lines were broken 

by the ever-crashing 
waves, washing away 

each name I’d etched 
for myself on the shore.

It called itself poet.
So I chose it.

Notes

This poem is inspired by a prompt from the poet Dorianne Laux, in her wonderful Finger Exercises for Poets (W. W. Norton, 2024), to write about the day when I “became overwhelmed by the world” (69). While I wrote “Origins” with no specific date in mind, it does allude to a few recent moments where I’ve become particularly moved to write in verse.