Sunday, June 28, 2009
Maybe things are better than we imagine
if a rubber inner-tube still can send us
drifting down a sinuous, tree-draped river
like the Wisconsin—
far removed from spores of touristococcus.
As we bob half-in and half-out of water
with our legs like tentacles, dangling limply
under the surface
we are like invertebrate creatures, floating
on a cosmic droplet—a caravan of
giant-sized amoebas, without a clear-cut
sense of direction.
It’s as if we’ve started evolving backwards:
mammal, reptile, polliwog, protozoon—
toward that dark primordial soup we seem so
eager to get to.
Funny, how warm water will whisper secrets
in its native language to every cell— yet
we, the aggregation, have just begun to
fathom the gestures.
Marilyn L. Taylor , Poet Laureate of the state of Wisconsin, is the author of five collections of poetry; a sixth is forthcoming from Parallel Press in July of 2009. She is also a Contributing Editor for The Writer magazine, where her articles on craft appear bimonthly. "Summer Sapphics" originally appeared in Poetry.