Did it begin with the butcher
Or the lost soul?
Was the slicing first
or the joining?
These conundrums of beginnings
These chickens with their eggs
Same chicken but which came first?
Were we ever whole
Or did we begin with splitting apart
again
and again
and again?
Have we been picking up pieces and sticking them together
madly trying to reassemble ourselves and find
our place in the tribe
from which to leap
again
and again
and again?
Or maybe it began with the simple confusion of a word
Misheard
Misinterpreted
Misbegotten
By one who thought he might be leaving her
When really he was always going to do the opposite.

The practice is inspired by Naomi Shihab Nye and her notion that words are like oars. Dip them in the water. Explore with them. Feel how they touch and bump up against one another. Let them take us further down the stream.