The Big Outside
For Ellis b 1/2/21
In the beginning there is light and the soft rhythmic boom of the dark stops.
I open my mouth and become hunger. I call out and create a mother.
Wherever I look, I bring the world into being. I make a man and a dog.
I make an old one. I bring shape and direction and distance.
I have the old one carry me into the big outside. Look, he says, these are leaves.
I gaze at the leaves until they move. Light plays in the air and birds
tell each other their secrets. I have him bring me out again at night
when the light is less, when it rests. Look, he says, above the leaf shadow
is the high sky. I lift my arms, think perhaps I should fall up into the dark,
cry like some strange little bird, giving my own secrets away for free.
I am coming to the belief that most of what is real, begins with the tongue.
This is why I rub food into my mouth when the mother gives it to me in a bowl.
And there is joy. I feel how I bring it into the world. The world smiles at me.
It is clear I am the centre. I make everything happen. I am particularly attentive
to the mother – she makes me feel safe – I open my eyes and she is there.
If she is not, I must call and call until she is re-made. The mother says I am a miracle.
There is a new taste in my head. I think it is the taste of change. I don’t always
understand why I do a particular thing. I discover the reason later. For example,
I have expanded the big outside and created more people. Most of them will be
unmade. But some will stay. This is the game I play with myself. Who will stay?
I no longer need food during the dark. I let the mother sleep. I’ve decided things
are made during the bright. Most things are lost in the dark. Dark is the time
for the long sleep. Bright is the time for me to exercise my body.
I am becoming more. I know I made the old one, but I don’t know why he is old.
Perhaps there’s a need for contrast, for opposites – bright & dark; new & old.
I am a beginning. Perhaps, the old one is an ending. I have discovered words.
They too begin with the tongue, but they are not enough. There’s a laziness to them.
If I start to name things, they will stop being themselves. This must be the change I tasted.
Words are greedy. They will take over. But there is so much more you can know
if you don’t have to think it all out for yourself. This is the first temptation.
Frank Dullaghan is an Irish writer now returned to living in the UK after 15 years in the Middle and Far East. His poetry has been widely published in international literary journals. Frank was a co-founder of the Essex Poetry Festival and chaired the judging panel for The Young Essex Poet of the Year competition. He was also editor of Seam Poetry Magazine for many years. Frank has five collections of poetry the most recent being In the Coming of Winter, 2021 from Cinnamon Press.