Today's poem is by Jenny George

Sword Swallower

The soul enters the body

through the mouth.
So the legends say.

I say: the soul enters
through childhood.

A barn with its doors left open
fills with night swallows.
In the hayloft
certain dark sections
flicker with movement,
the dimension of depth.

Finally, stillness. The moon—
a threshing tool
revealed in the diminished light.
The glint of its blade.

And the earth under a black quilt.

Sleep: that ancient union
of death with its body.
The child sleeps.
As in—the child returns
to the time before her body.

But the earth always adjusts.
A blueness pools in the shadows.
Dawn pierces her
with its strange dream.
The birds open their throats, cry out—

Before language, there was just
the peculiar house of nerves.
Now the world is buried in me, to the hilt.
The sun burns off the mist.
I take my violence out over the field.

Copyright © 2015 Jenny George All rights reserved
from Beloit Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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