January 28, 2010

It's always Christmas in the mountains

Ellen the geneticist in her plaid jacket spoke
and sent the Earth evolving,
filling our veins with sparrows and shards
of vibrato-shattered windows
as the ground began to eat its figures.

You could do it too, she urged
and like ice, like hope, we grew crystallin-clear
infinitely reduplicated
in the mirrored windows of the testing facility.

What should we say?
God's face founded a zebra prince
clanging the bars of his cage with a can
crying, Yoo hoo!
Ho ho! Merry Christmas!

They had lived and worked together so much
the researcher caught herself
telling the zebra prince's stories
as though they were her own.

When Ellen the geneticist in her plaid jacket spoke
she said, What's not to say?
The earth was fallow before we had our say.
Throw the transparent wrapper
of your disposable camera into the air
and take a photo of it falling:

One day we will breed the ultimate window.


  1. Glad I was directed to this: excellent poem with a scientific edge.

  2. Do see my poem "Frenetic Genetics" - in much the same ball park!