I. In the beginning
Was the Word, and the words we know by heart:
Let-there-be, a blatant answer to the dark
And then Adam, still tasting the first quick air
In his lungs, learning what it means to garden
With a swell behind his teeth, a gaping breath—
Language tumbled out like a kid’s first work of art.
Naming the animals and every lonely star,
Stumbling into poetry at the sight of his girl.
Imago Dei, a tongue to set the earth
In order, and interrogate the dark.
II. Babble, Babel
Broke us, shattered every phrase we had
Before, and bent our tongues toward another plan.
The end of this tower, even unity’s end
Because what sort of stale communion can
Be celebrated now? At least dirty hands
Can be washed, and dirty feet rubbed clean,
But who will tame my tongue? I can’t.
In the lonely, fractured aftermath
My words mark me unclean, another Adam
With the stench of bad fruit lingering on my breath.
III. Pentecost struck
Us suddenly, with a whispering wind
At our ears, and a dark like before creation.
Then one soft word to break the silence open
And a spark of light once again.
Spirit Holy, grant us the gracious gift
To speak in tongues of fire like this
Fire that hovers above our bowed heads.
White-hot coal pressed to the lips
As a new word takes its shape within
Us, a speech sweet as incense.
Ava Pardue is a young poet currently studying at Wheaton College in Illinois. She has a musical collaboration forthcoming with Dr. J.D. Frizzel, and her work has been recognized by the Wells Young Poets Contest and Black Fox Literary Magazine, among others. Her poetry focuses on themes of hope and victory over darkness.
