from tiny creatures
Excerpt from Triptych: Little Deities
1. EL-BO
The morning after she said no to the woman she might have loved, she was accosted by her left elbow.
EL-BO, it rumbled, a sustained funny bone feeling, her entire body an eardrum. Lips-teeth-tongue, her mouth replied, feeling cheeky.
EL-BO, the elbow persisted.
All right, she said.
She adjusted the blankets, preparing to sleep in. The elbow popped nitrogen bubbles, a pointed protest of synovial snapping.
All right, she said, getting up. At the bathroom mirror, toothpaste foaming, she realized the thing’s significance. She was, after all, a leading authority in Northwest Semitic languages. She knew the words: EL-BO. “God in it.” Why not? That’s where a god should be, in the interstice.
EL-BO, the god said, declaring itself. I will speak. Okay, she said. Listening.