inventing gravity by Isabella Urdahl

He tried to grow me out of leftover, already calcified bone seed. But I alone drank the sun of my reflection, so in this valley I lily-grew up to be soft, wanton, sweet green like a lying curling vine since they said submission makes me look divine . But Eden is no Eden thus defined; for how can I know the meaning of flight without the threat of fall? This sculptured garden carved holy — their heavenly hands feeding no life at all .

He told me of His little greenhouse, His sustenance, and said I was welcome to taste almost all . But exploring, trailed by air so frequently incensed, I found adoring my hair a seed . It grew a fair red fruit singing death like an open wound, full of blood aching to fall . He told me (so he told me) my beauty came from receiving His hands, sculpting my body so soft . So held down by His gaze I swallowed, I received, I submitted to know . Tongue cutting open my full red heart, I tasted what was promised for the first time — divine.

Yes, I sunk my teeth in and with my red fruit’s tears, within my wound I found my own divine . Nectared sunset waves washed away my former palate, and suddenly I saw all of my freshly naked body breaking its bent shape . Unfurling from Earth, I looked up — I know I spoke . I know why the fruit was forbidden and why song grew from my sinful seed . Lapping at my sweet fruit’s peeled, ragged edges, I tongued a new definition of soft, where savoring sensitive didn’t taste fragile . I discovered they cannot possess me if I fall

by Isabella Urdahl

like an apple inventing my own gravity . Let me fall and find in His version of hell, my blood burning my heavenly fire even more divine. Let me well-open myself, digging into my once hardened earth, making my own garden soft and out of these tender carvings let fill myself up with all that is true . If I am to be soft and I am to receive and I am to be life-giving, let me seed my own mind’s womb and in it bolden up little saplings of true love with all that I do not know . Despite what he said — “He says, He knows” — I know that the only time my blood sang love before my fall, was when I faced my own reflection in the mirror pond with which I watered my seed. he told me to look inward for Him but I felt holy with my hands, found that I am what I divine . I’d rather pleasure myself with the work of my own fingers, singing hellfire, than be half of all. And when night caresses my bare body, I know I was made moonlight soft .

inventing gravity

art | Maggie Brosnan

And bathing in gold heat, I will tempt burns from up high as I let the sun kiss me, melt me soft so I can forge myself anew through pain’s sermon . To to let oneself be burned is to know what fire means — wood breaking and light smoking and blood warming and all. If wanting all of sadness’ sweet, purity’s sour, and lust’s cleansing truth is fall — let me fall . I’ll hurtle, a trembling brilliant star, towards death faithfully divine . As I embrace Earth, let all my parts fall apart and re-seed .

Damn me all you wish — I am fallen, I am lost — I am no longer despoiled by you . I gave you soft . Now I still give soft — to myself — and from my luminous fallout I will grow beyond all I know . Igniting new light I’ll star-fall — into gravity of my own making — which can be nothing but divine . fh 7