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The last Night of Power
when heaven, pregnant
with consonants, gasped
accent marks and gave birth.
The stars unfurled embroidery
stitches in curved words
along Jibril’s indigo back
to earth, to Prophet, and to us.
We, the progeny, seek it each year
on the odd evenings, and pray sing-song
words that fall from our lips.
Like baby birds, we close our eyes
and feel for vibrations.
Leila Montour writes the Sister Scorpion blog and is the mother of two baby scorpions. She earned her BA in English and Women's Studies.
