Writing from the stemistry lab
Triptych
by Marilyn Longstaff
(i)
I have been testing out the family tree.
Some ancestor (a strange word) broke the law
and passed it down; my mother handed it to me
so I’ve been testing out the family tree
for size, although in recent times all entries
say, for place of birth, same cell bank as before.
I have been testing out the family tree
for strange ancestors who broke the law.
(ii)
What’s the point of sex, the useless grind
of bone on bone, the rub of skin on skin?
Now we can order babies from a catalogue I find
I’m asking what’s the point: the useless grind,
the sweaty sheets, the stench? I wouldn’t mind
my love, if you felt otherwise, but as soon as we begin
you say, What’s the point of sex, the useless grind
of bone on bone, the rub of skin on skin?
(iii)
When all this is over darling
and everything is as perfect
as can be, will there be something –
when all this is over darling,
when we have chosen our offspring –
that tells us where to bury the rejects?
When all this is over darling
and everything is perfect?