Click here to listen to Josh Kellar read this poem.
I repeat the story to myself, click my tongue:
outside it is spring, winter, spring, the seasons
wavering, uncertain as the light.
I give myself to the light, hope vanishing, appearing.
I have read the celestial texts, prophecy
in the crossed lines of my palm:
878 years hence the sky will open, the fist of God
will strike the ocean, raise it up to drown the wicked.
The Ark is a construct of light,
my mouth full of it, tasting of almonds,
dates, lemons. It is a leavening. My feet rise
above the many-tongued speech:
We will not wait, we sow the dragon’s teeth,
drink pitchblende and lead, spit iron and rust:
Jerusalem, the city of peace.
*When this poem was written in 2002, 1950DA was the only asteroid with a chance of hitting the Earth above the background noise. In 2002, it was estimated that there was, at most, a .33 percent chance of a collision in the year 2880.
