The Gods, the Ghosts, the Living

When the earth cracked open,

the first to claw their way out of the stars underneath were the old gods, the forgotten ones.

The youngest had never even seen light before.

She cried when the sun came up for the first time, and let her outstretched hands become petrified in the warmth.

She didn’t mind being a statue if it meant the sun would never leave her.

The eldest didn’t even wait long enough

to let the light brush the blood of the void off his coat

before he pried open the sea and slipped into the sand

to let it choke out his eyes and ears,

never again letting in something that could be lost.

The ghosts came next, 

each one clutching a photograph of who they were,

running around the earth crying out,

Has anyone seen the love of my life?

Has anyone seen my home?

Has anyone seen me?

It was a pity they couldn’t read what was written on the tombstones.

They were good people, after all.

The last to free themselves was humanity.

They had to climb slowly,

each crack in the darkness a foothold, a memory of the playground next to their best friend’s house.

A leaf fell into the pit from the surface,

and brushed against a young girl’s head.

The rough edges caught in her braid, and in her surprise, she began to laugh,

and soon the world joined her.

It had been such a surprise, and such a long time since they’d felt life besides the skeletons they climbed with.

Her brother was older, wiser, and he knew where leaves must fall from.

Come on, everyone!

He knew the trees were waiting for them.

When humanity reached the earth,

it hardly recognized them,

their faces streaked with mud and the tears from laughing

and the one leaf stuck in a young girl’s braid.

She greeted the statue in the sun, and put her leaf, her life, their hope

in the stone hand pointing toward the heavens.

Somewhere far below the ocean, 

a sad old man pushed the sand out of his eyes

and cracked a smile.