Weaving Granite

By Maria Melendez Kelson
 

Granite Weaving, 1988, by Jesús Moroles




“He” grates across the throat, the “h” a dry abrasion on the tongue —
Across the throat, the “h” in “she” is tucked behind the folded muscle.
In “she” is tucked the “e” the lips unpurse to say, same as saying “we.”
My lips unpurse to say the names of  God, of    Love, and they are “She.”
The names of   God, of   Love are, too, old explosions coded into granite.
Too, old explosions cooled to stone warm to the touch of  light, as she,
Stone-warmed and glowing, let my lips brush velvet shadows onto hers.
Let my lips brush the story soft, forget that “he” was scrape and struggle.
The story soft forgets that “he” was heavy, wrestled into “we,” and weaving
“He” heavy, wrestled (strands of  granite yarned like fabric) into “we,”
Strands of granite halt their dry abrasion, interlock, and become “She.”
Copyright Credit: You can read the rest of the PINTURA : PALABRA portfolio in the March 2016 issue of Poetry. All images in this portfolio are courtesy of and with permission from the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Granite Weaving by Jesús Moroles, gift of Frank K. Ribelin.
Source: Poetry (March 2016)