Writing from the stemistry lab
I’ve had names
by Sophie Baker
that could fill your hand and settle it.
The shape of my flowering heart has inspired ballads,
whalesong, a stomp of hoof to claim the land – children.
I have never modelled myself on any of you, but dance my petals
in the winds of change that stay the same,
that I depend on. I am, it would seem, the embodiment of whim,
the vehicle to delight. You may think it amazing
that I echo the shape of your hand, your grandad’s hand;
that I could know what makes you
and the very bones of your creation. It is illusion.
That this is so is a relief to those like me, who see
continuation beyond the bottom rung of the tree of life,
that see your hand as one of millions that have gone before,
that see your hand as the same as any mammal’s –
that don’t see your hand in this at all.
That I am like this speaks of love and not of you.
That you see me at all speaks of the seeds of your own creation.