Jennifer Rahim

For the earth has spoken, to you, her magma Creole. Full-throated syllables, up- rising from deep down, an honest elocution — rudimentary sound: guttural nouns, forthright, strong, the rumbled conviction of verbs unfettered by reticence as the first poetry of creation. A secret has passed between you so wonderfully terrible, it laid your cities prostrate, raptured your citizenry. Now, we look to your remnant courtesy cable TV and garble theories thinking ourselves saved. Only the wise among us pin our ears to the ground, listening in hope of catching even a half syllable of the language forming like a new world on your tongue.