[Unknown] by Harry Thurston

We all must come from somewhere. Out of the blackness of time,
moon-faced, our complexions pocked by the catastrophe of

Why not believe as did the ancient marsh dwellers?
The sacred ibis spoke the gods into being,

laying an egg from which the sun burst forth.
The rest is history. Or so said Herodotus.

It was the jet-black ibises, with their hooked beaks
down-turned like the nibs of pens, who gave us writing.

One story is as good as another.
We all must come from somewhere,

shining out of the blackness of time.
Believe what you must.

From: Jernigan, Amanda and Jones, Evan (eds.), Earth and Heaven: An Anthology of Myth Poetry, 2015, Fitzhenry & Whiteside: Ontario, p. [unnumbered].

Date: 2015

By: Harry Thurston (1950- )

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