Andrew S. Nicholson
The Parade of Animals in Genesis
And Adam gave names to all cattle, and all the fowl of the air, and to every beast
of the field; but for Adam there was not found an helper meet for him. —Gen. 2:20
Name any animal.
Its last syllable hollows
barren, calcite
as your vacant house.
White hart beds down
with your kitchen drawers
emptied out.
Pied cormorant sounds
with no body
stretching
on the living room couch.
No other foot
steps through the foyer.
None passes the stair railing.
When Adam felt alone,
the hands that kneaded him
made a try at companion.
Firecat, screech-owl,
snow ermine
who crawled
up his downy-haired thigh—
Each animal’s name
meant creator’s mistake. The mouth
that breathed lungs alive failed.
Paraded over tongue and teeth,
the cavalcade lingers.
They prowl your lips.
Mammal, the garden is full.
Dog
She chases the rabbit in the moon.
White-eyed,
it is arcing west. It must be running.
She is panting and dahlias
flower from her lungs.
The ribs’ white net bouquets them.
A song:
Inside a dog, a dahlia grows.
And inside the dahlia, a bumblebee wanders
with a long-stemmed iris
stalking down the bee’s throat.
A song:
Hydrangeas bunch
on a rabbit’s lungs, which may be
the moon or a second
moon, and there must be
a garden growing
on the moon running ragged.
A field of flowers burrow.
Sprints there,
a quicksilver heart darts.