Whether nature or nurture
can never be established,
boundaries entwined, blood
mingling among thought
and our moving within
the world. Together
and separate, we bump one
another, skin touching visible
skin, mind amid mind, each
in spiritus mundi,
sharing our parts, even
when we believe we are not.
Somewhere, miraculously,
we manage to become,
picking up detritus here,
among our ruins, among
the homemade cities,
fragments of chemistry,
flesh, inheritance, and
the routine, extraordinary
experience of what
it means to live as we are.
Together, we piece our
individual beings, laying
sovereign lives out
and down wherever it is
we land, the places
we decide to call selfhood,
hoping they are at once something
we can designate as beautiful,
at once, notoriously strong—
our own intricate ashlars made
of marble and muscle,
vein and stone, solid
enough to withstand rumor
and war, hold against intention
and assumption,
finite, limited thinking,
the plausible threat
of a new pandemic, and this,
our interminable human history.
Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright June 17, 2024, all rights reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse