Elizabeth Cooley
Elizabeth Cooley

I’ve imagined the way God
must’ve mixed the new earth,
dirt and grass in a round
sandbox behind the garage with sticks.
He must’ve wrapped it around his hands,
scratched out an alphabet with chalk.
I’ve imagined his drawings—sheet after sheet
of construction paper—scrawled:
the creation of a tree, a river, this one, all
blue, the sky. Under a fort of blankets
with a flashlight, tongue stuck
between teeth, inexperienced, he must
have made man, his hands
slipping here, an extra groove,
here, a sharp line, here

1 Comment

  1. Elizabeth, I love your imagery and the fact that you’ve used everyday things as God and Creation. I’ll bet your poem tells exactly what happened in the First week!


  1. Spry is Live! (some favorites from the first issue of a new online journal.) | The Garret - [...] Wake by Allie Marini Batts, a short piece which related personal disaster to natural disaster,  Genesis by Elizabeth Cooley,…

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