On the day God was to create reason,
He lost track of time and created
a jade stone. He gathered all the green
things of the world, compressed them
to one shade, then added glints of light
from sea-froth, like an emblem
of the primal world, immanent and whole.
Afterwards he cut it into random shards,
smoothed each surface like a lucent skin,
set them aglow as if they might burn.
Then He flung them over the fecund earth,
each piece asymmetrical, unique,
some partly shattered, not like the pieces
of a puzzle that would fit again,
but scattered to settle in caves of ice
and mist, under the waves of salt drenched
seas, beneath the gnarled roots of trees, to stir the shards of memory––
and be discovered one by one
or not by aging men
who have forgotten what a child
or a lover knows: those first moments
out of time, suspended––first rapture
as if sheared from God’s fierce heart––
clean edged, cutting, and gleaming hard.
About the Author
Richard Brostoff’s work has appeared in Rattle, Texas Review, Atlanta Review, Epiphany, Gulf Stream, The Anthology of New England Writers, Confrontation, South Dakota Review, River Oak Review, The Distillery, Owen Wister Review, Contact Quarterly, Hawaii Pacific Review, Cumberland Review, Berkeley Poetry Review, Wisconsin Review, Eclipse, Red Wheelbarrow, Southeast Review, Willow Review, Whiskey Island, Magma (London), Verse Daily, and many other journals. He won the grand prize at the AEI International Poetry Festival, the editor’s choice for the Robert Penn Warren Award, and was a finalist for the Iowa Review Poetry Contest. My chapbook, “Momentum,” was published by La Vita Poetica (Atlanta, Georgia, 2007). A second chapbook, “A Few Forms Of Love” was published by Finishing Line Press (2012). He has been part of the dance world for a number of years now, and perform new dance and contact improvisation. He is also a physician and studied medicine at Duke and Harvard.