Our hands, when thereís no further use for
the last two digits, will concretize into
solid form, something with which to pound
a tack when the hammer is in the other
room. Something on which to strike a
match. Our ears were once the
serpentís jaw, and our eyes once the
lizardís shield. What filled in the
missing pieces when god extracted Adamís
rib? Did Eve grow out from his side
like a Chernobyl surprise? Was it
really an apple or a ball of
arsenic? For want of a longer
kairos, I develop a limp, a stutter, a
smoking habit. She said that time
was the moment of becoming: a
present moment aggregate of past moments
becoming a moment into the future.
with the serpentís jaw: distended
like a satellite dish. Somebody
killed somebody else with the jaw bone of
an ass, I said.
If time is
in the moment of becoming, when does it
flourish passed the participle and
become? Itís not that easy, she
said. It surprises our
expectations. Something unexpected
and untimely disrupts our usual mundane
course of action.
dentist appointment, I offered.
A cigarette break, she
It exists in the disappearance of things,
she said. She seemed sad to say it,
sad when she said it, sad long after she
said it. We see things always in the
moment of their vanishing, she
lamented. Iíd heard that before,
somewhere at sometime.
Itís out of necessity I listen with my
serpentís jaw rather than swallow rodents
whole, I told her.
Perhaps it depends on the exaptation of
our hat holders to hold more than hats and
do more than chew food and butt the sides
of our lovers. Unless, of course,
itís not a participle at all, but a
gerund, too. Could it be a gerund,
too? I asked her.
She shook her head finally. It is
not a thing itself, she said.
Person, place, or otherwise.
Becoming, defiant of any specified place
until it becomes, had become,
For how long? she asked.
As far back as I can recall, I said.
My shoddy memory with holes in it like the
inside of Adamís chest. Perhaps itís
the appendix that will one day calcify in
order to protect a more delicate organ in
need of protection from a world that
changes to kill us.
For want of a longer kairos, we sprout the
wings of crows.