I awake the first daughter, the first mother. I am
nobody's, I belong to the man behind the tree
picking yellow flowers. We don't have a word
for flowers yet. We don't have a word for tree.
I don't know I am a daughter or a mother
only know this once two warring tribes come
headlong from my body. We invent a word
for pain. I dream the word murder before
it happens. This is what it looks like: at daybreak,
two elephants bathe each other at the mouth
of the river. They cascade water until the sun goes
down, and one elephant sinks deep into the sand
until he can no longer be seen. The lone elephant
wails and splashes, looking for the missing
elephant until again it's daybreak.
- Brett Elizabeth Jenkins (from The Adroit Journal)