Beginnings


So much of a story’s telling
depends upon a strong beginning,
a word that declares
here is the root, the foundation;
know this and you begin well.

A brazen bisection
to place upon a page
words that enliven
a thought, a memory,
that speak a mused image,
but also in silent negation
declare all else outside,
beyond, ignorable, enshadowed.

Arrogance, hubris? Perhaps.
But a slicing of necessity,
borne of limits,
else writer and reader alike
succumb as much
to unbeginning as to unending.

Is it an irony
that finitude demands
such godlike decisions?
Hear this first word,
see this painting’s frame,
touch this sculpture’s base,
listen to this opening chord.
Encounter the boundary.

We trace the edges with our fingers,
we gaze upon penumbrae between sun and shade,
we hold our breath and cup our ears,
to catch, to glimpse, to feel, to listen.

And in the end or at the beginning–
it doesn’t really matter–
each story, painting, song, poem, sculpture
feebly, nobly, humanly echoes
the Voice who speaks the Word
evoking order from chaos,
calling light out of darkness,
resurrecting life beyond all death.

David M. Frye
April 1, 2009
Denton, Neb.