By Patrick T. Reardon
Child of the Century was born in
a wash of salt water, a covenant
with breathing, an opening of the
eyes to power and unknowing.
In the beginning.
Child of the Century raised the
psalter in his hands to sing a psalm
of salt covenant, a canticle of
salt sown among seeds, a hymn of
milk and honey and frankincense,
salt and mustard and myrrh.
In those days.
The prophet Elisha purified the
pool with salt. The one ocean is
fed by the world’s fresh waters.
At the lick, a deer quivering,
head high, alert to peril.
Child of the Century visited the City
of Salt, swam in the Sea of Salt. His
burdened brother turned himself into
a pillar of salt with his escape gun.
The Lord gives, takes.
On the midnight kitchen table in the
stolid Mildred Street apartment, the
fervent cockroach partakes of a soda
cracker, salt side down.
The Lord speaks in the headlong
poetry of the prophets.
Patrick T. Reardon
This poem originally appeared at Silver Birch Press on 9.9.23