Revolution

In the beginning the Earth twisted compact in the universe. We worshiped a lone moon spinning too

among stars lodged into the sky; we found Mars the way you might find a skeleton or a sweater—haphazardly,

when looking for something else, when something is not in its place: I remember the mornings I wondered

if Venus was a star and tried to feel the exquisite movement of the ground as it turned. I whispered violence

through my toes and by night I was tired in the body but also tired from wondering, that dark, dark

space of prediction, and also from the press of skin. In the beginning the Earth took its tectonic plates and

slammed them together like shutting a book just to open another. We stood in awe of what we could destroy:

we mapped the earth with ideas— we sucked at our blisters— we peeled the paper of skin—

felt it flimsy between our fingers— the parched piece of which was torn from home.

Holly Cian