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Rapprochement
by Beverly Smith
Standing at the curve
of the double helix
I see each bend
each crosshatch
of genes
turning back
through the years
to my mother
and the vapor
of my father
As I pull on the years
and stretch to reach
the next day
I see laid out
along the curves
the mantle of her
the mystery of him
My hands like hers
are losing shape
my fingers fattening
at the knuckle
my skin thinning
like tissue easy to tear
my long hair now shortening
around bewildered face
the body shedding
and shredding itself
reaching away
from the hot years
toward a cool
and darker moment
Day after day
I push my mother
to the edge
slipping her noose
at every chance
but she is melting
before my eyes
leaving all thought
to others
eating only chocolates
like my child would do
to keep her with me
on the surface upright
I’ve become her watchguard
chief among her children
moving ever closer
so close
too close
But where is my father
dead long years
never alive to me
a wisp of whiskery secrets
how long the ribbons
of genes stretch
to fragments of memory
his body untouched
I will him to myself
what I remember
is post and pre-language
what I remember of this self
is my altar
to the rhythm dance
the dog self
seated next to
the angel self
beside which
sits the long bearded
rosary self
tied bangle to bangle
basket after basket
of jewels beside
images of children
kissing the self
the boy self
young and plump
growing into
the robed goddess
this is the silver cup
of the self
diverse by image
imprint and language