Casey Zella Moir


I’ve been wondering about
the beginning: the rending of light
from dark. Whose hands were doing the

guiding, the drawing back of that curtain,
what was it made of, what told him to pull
at that split to turn me in two?

It is always a long walk to face my accuser. The last time it was through a forest of books,
shelves rising up over my small body, a shadow of myself. I wanted to drop to my knees, crawl.

In the old testament the whole story is told twice
The second time there is a long list of names to
begin the telling
I wonder if I can name them all, the blurred faces.
All of them men all of them seeking the part
of me that can create new worlds – this light I can
hardly see in
myself            And how did they know where I hid it and                where were
                        my hands when they were finding it where was my voice when they
                        rested with heavy deep satisfied breaths: the work they had done.

And why is it always the woman dragging
a long trail
of dead snake
skins behind
I’ve been thinking
about whether there’s a god who has
been watching all of this
has he been guiding the hands? Do they
do his work? When it says Eve knew nakedness it must mean the snake rubbed her so
                                     raw she could not longer stand her own body.

And if it says he made day and night does it really
just mean that it has been since the beginning that man
                                     split woman into two parts

Did god decide that I can have only one light half and the other can be torn into darkness
with just a pair of hands (where are my hands to
stop them and why am I naked and why are his hands
between my legs)

There is morning                     There is night              I am naked and ashamed
He says                                                                           It is good.

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