What can biology do?

It’s only an imprint.

a frayed old predictable thing

lying between layers of skin; too hearty

to touch matters of the soul,

too heavy to hold how far light can go.


I’ve been told I’m quite something;

too big to live a life beating between two ribs;

too big, too special, too free,

too immortal to be

tied down by a biological imprint.


But rain clouds ripe and ready to spill,

swarm and froth at my hills; boding

to howl, crash and storm


not returning her telephone call.


Mother, we spoke last week,

and since then the world has remained still;

I hate work and you baked something new again-

lives roll as raw as noon TV.

Under the tier of cherry icing

I know you’re as tired as me.


Tired of watching our shine fade,

from fierce gold to sullen grey cold

and the weight of our sweet and sour

woman souls.

It’s the same tragedy, the same famine

that lives in our cracks and imprints.


So, mother how can you fear

that the winds will blow us apart?

I can only fly as far as the biology

of your heart.



Image by Carrie Mae Weems


2 thoughts on “Biology

  1. Pingback: Author Interview – Matt Seeley – “Syndrome” (Contemporary Poetry) | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

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