the cinematography of birth

By Savannah Slone

photo by Ivan Babydov on Pexels

 

we were all born during the slow 


fast shift of all things, oil on 


canvas     no time stamp,


among stained glass and wildlife and 


a sea of velvet earlobes and disco glitter


pageantry     while language swelled 


into watercolor during telomere 


replication and 


extreme weather turned our


nothings into artifacts of survival or 


remembrance and colors disappeared 


underwater, one by one, in the same 


order they appear in the color 


spectrum

we play make believe within our 


tiny exhibits 


as if we aren’t characters in a dollhouse 
or 

stuck inside an unmemorable speck 


tending to gardens we didn’t plant


pulling at our eyelashes under a fog glow 



and when we wonder if this world is worth staying alive for 


let us remember the starling murmurations against violet skies 


and seeing our breath turn to smoke and 


feeling ourselves float in ceramic,


our bellies singing out their


scalpel lures

your latch, exquisite 


despite our moonlighting

 


we are gods birthing gods.


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