Prologue of the Book of Hallowed Verses of the Holy Circus of Decent Girls

posted Aug 20, 2005

1Let us now braid.

Let us maintain a central column, a stalk, and this shall center us
and remind us always of backbone
because these are the days intent upon breaking it.

2This backbone will be in your hands where things become real.

3Let us take a section in the left hand and a section in the right
and one after the other, crisscross the center,
tugging tightly
so that this braid is locked

by pulling the column way left
and crossing it back over what came in from the left
to be center for a moment, and let this repeat from the right
until the lengths run out

and you see how three can become one center.

4And know that hair is protein
and made of amino acids though that is not what makes it shine,

not what makes the finished braid fall over your palm like a waterfall,
not what makes you long to do this to water, a braid
that contains fishes, the gleam of scales polished by the movement
of your fingers braiding;

5you are sure this has something to do with angels;
you are sure their fingers make these movements though as to what they are braiding,
you have only possibilities that have the effect of questions;

6perhaps, though this is a vain thought, they weave for us and themselves
a common destiny 7—for if they die, how can we expect to continue?

8But you cannot imagine the death of all angels, not ever
while you are braiding; keep on
9—how this is saving you

though your fingers do not become part of the weave,
your fingers that are like olm or mudpuppy, even the glistening salamanders
that spend their youth in the braided water, that once could live in fire,

10salamander that coils as the braid can be coiled
into a round potholder with which a kettle is lifted, 11steam
coming out of its nose like a bull ready for the matador

12and that is why you have been braiding, to be ready
for last days, 13the water accepting the cranberry and lime
to become tea that burns the lips you have puckered
to draw in small sips
before and after you go to revival
where there are no limits to how many times you can be born

into this need, this braid you are proud of
without saying a word because lately, 14only
amen
comes out of your mouth, and only tea has gone in.

Thylias Moss, the mother of Limited Fork Poetics, teaches this theory and works to fulfill even its oddest predictions at the University of Michigan.

Her latest book is Slave Moth.

Tokyo Butter will be published early in 2006.