Monday, June 20, 2011
One cadaver said to the other
cadaver, "You're my cadaver."
The conversation ended there
but not its effects.
Their souls had evaporated.
It was up to love to raise them
from their litters and let them
arrive as the living poor
at the surface of earth. It did.
At first the maculate pair
poked and picked through refuse.
Denials were their daily breads.
Then they were sold to those
who found their fertility a bonus.
Owned then by the living with names
and fortunes, with lovers who say,
"Lover, I'm your lover,"
cadavers were still the majority.
They kept creation going and love
as well – like hands on a cold
or sunburned back – a weight
with properties that animate.
– from Fanny Howe's new book, Emergence