The Knowledge Not Spoken Of

First performed at Critical Breakdown’s Women’s Herstory Month 3/27, then a couple weeks later at East Meets Words 4/10 >>


I am in trance,

Perched astride a broad stretch of Kailash

Perhaps doing penance


My hair coiled and matted

A sanyasi in the making

When my godhead began speaking

Through me she spoke in first


Aamar mon bhuliye diye tumi aamaake tomar bondhur mauton baniye badhiye diyecho


I now translate


The mythology that is not spoken of relates

your godhead is a chameleon


The intrigue that is not spoken of relates

your godhead and my godhead had a one-night stand

in a seedy part of town

bated desperate hurried

and your godhead might have been Genghis Khan at the time


I apologize

Error in translation


The intrigue that is not spoken of relates

your godhead and my godhead coupled amorously

one jasmine-scented night

on steamy river banks

and your godhead was indeed Genghis Khan at the time


Your godhead had an inexplicable attraction to my godhead

curious in that your godhead was as drawn to

as repulsed by my godhead

as ocean and moon


The mythology that is not spoken of relates

your godhead is a germaphobe

I suspect you knew this as a child

When you first heard rumors of your godhead


In any case

the passionate nature of their encounter

would have rivaled a clash of titans


as they were churning cream into butter

their heat built to such astonishing levels

as to begin clarifying that butter into ghee


One drop

heavy with promise

fell from the sky


at that exact moment

I looked up

My mouth open in wonder

And a soft warm oily

Kiss of ambrosia

landed on my tongue


Unhappily I did not reach enlightenment


And unfortunately

for both our godheads

in the realms where our godheads were presently occupied

your godhead’s obsession with hygiene got in the way


as my godhead’s hot fetid mouth opened for him

your godhead watched

entranced and horrified

still, though reluctantly, he slipped out his tongue



he succumbed to such shock he nearly flatlined

in this darkness he struggled


cajoling his numb mind when his dead muscles had quit

he knew he had to believe that he had not kissed my


you see to acknowledge that would mean he was as filthy

as her hot mouth

he wouldn’t be able to live without cracking up



being the mind-reader she was

my godhead was displeased


she had not even gotten to that warm melty feeling

so abruptly he had fallen from her

as hard and frozen

as a petrified tree


and more urgently still

that moment when that drop of nirvana touched my tongue

my godhead felt a tug

deep in her womb


and now

struggling in pitch

he was denying responsibility in their pregnancy


Though your godhead eventually brought himself back

he could not escape my godhead

nor did he wish to


he remained with her by her side

for all the days her belly grew

fetching her this and that and whatever was her desire

and he did so attentively

as he did for the melons he tended in his garden


finally it was time

my godhead was ripe with stretch-marks

and as she went into labor

at the local hospital

your godhead stood waiting

just outside the door jamb of the delivery room


to distract himself from her anguished cries

he began talking to the voices in his head

he calmed them by singing a lull-a-bye


their baby screamed it’s first hello to the world

when Eve bit the apple


when Krishna first played his sweet flute

to a married woman

my godhead had just bitten through the umbilical cord

releasing her baby to the world


livid she turned her jaundiced bloodshot eyes

over to where your fidgety godhead was now sitting Indian-style

rubbing his head frantically

still murmuring his story


the poisoned snake had just withdrawn to nestle

in the roots of the life-giving tree

when my godhead had had enough


fuming she flung the afterbirth

hotly flushed out

the bloody pulps struck your godhead on his face


he bolted to his feet

in violent revulsion

stamped a blinding hole into the universe


his story stopped forever


the earthy sickly sweet scent of blood

turned his stomach


he stumbled backwards

lost footing

fell into the hole he had stamped


and found his nose and belly

pressed against a spongy warm egg

with hard-boiled consistency

smelling familiarly of freshly hatched chicks

on his lips he felt the pulse in that egg

beating on his heart like a gong


something impending

grew within him

pushing at his throat


so tremendous the pressure

he drew in a yoga breath for the ages

and out it gushed in a flood

washing over his baby and the mother


as suddenly

quietness and surety filled him


that lull a bye he had earlier released to the world

that it was incomplete hardly mattered anymore

in the face of this awesome fierceness that took hold of him

he no longer needed his stories


he understood now

the mother would always know

a breath before each one he drew

and this knowledge my godhead planted in my ear


it is as a shell floating

in the tumultuous sea of women’s blood

chanced upon by the light of blue moons

oft kept mired in fear

and acted upon so rarely

as to appear divine to humankind

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