File this under dispatches from living in a liminal time.

Semantics of Propagation

We could see with our own eyes
cracks in the old vocabulary.
How the history pages,
turned brown at the edges,
peeled loose from their leather binding
in search of a new story.

The casing of truth
split right down the middle,
both sides pulling further apart,
the way a seedpod breaks open
revealing something precious
and fertile.

We took turns after school
holding each one
up to the light.
We could see movement,
a stirring under the thin membrane
of language.

constance mears