Storms without rain
In the beginning there were storms without rain. In the beginning I spent hours walking in your peripheries. In the beginning sounds were so low we only felt vibrations. In the beginning was more than a fear of words. In the beginning we sat on your patchwork quilt and drew dragons in charcoal. In the beginning you had to tie my shoes. In the beginning there were no witnesses. In the beginning there was no carcass and nothing to scavenge. In the beginning we both wore transparencies. In the beginning our bones were gelatinous. In the beginning was the sound of my mother’s voice and jazz. In the beginning we hid in the cupboard and could not be read. In the beginning we all had scar tissue. In the beginning we roared like beasts and it was all teeth and claws. In the beginning there was no learned helplessness. In the beginning you told me to let go. In the beginning I was always falling down. In the beginning we were joined together by threads of membrane. In the beginning there were no symbols and no-one undid them. In the beginning my face poked out. In the beginning the timbre of your laugh broke the air. In the beginning there was nothing to fake. In the beginning you would sit behind me and brush my hair back.
