Two Poems (July 20, 2010. Issue 19.)
Of Faith and Science
“Did Eve give birth to the cavemen?”
She looked up from a schoolbook
confused yet confident that
her mother knows the answer.
I ponder her plaid jumper and wonder what to say.
The child’s mind struggled
to resolve philosophical conflicts
like an elementary school Socrates.
A satchel stuffed with pencils and stickers
books of faith and science
I consider my duties as a card-carrying Christian,
caress the 24-karat cross I bear,
and politely nod at Intelligent Design
(which sounds scientific,
but is faith, not fact. Forgive me)
for I turn to reality, a fact-filled world.
Surely man is a reflection
of God, walking blueprints
of the Origin of our species.
I make windows of men’s hearts and peer in—
only to discover they still live in the dark,
afraid to seek out the spark
of Prometheus’ fire.
Spirits rusted from lack of use—
morals corrupted by easy ways out—
souls weighted and tethered
never to soar with angels
but content to wallow in the lowliness of selfish thoughts—
This is what man has evolved into?
Simple creatures consumed with consuming?
Bounds of intelligence and kindness untried?
Eve, mythical mother of Man,
I pray that Darwin was right,
that the fittest will survive.
I muster the courage and hope and faith
that each mother requires
so that her young might survive
and I balance it with the truth.
“Yes,” I say sadly, “she did.”
City Limits
Church in thirty minutes, announced
the reminder on his phone
as we turned onto Eighty-Three North.
The harbor is a clean touristy spot,
“inner city” separated from the inner secrets
every city tries to hide. This city conceals them
better than most.
Along the highway huddles a church courtyard—
iron-fenced-in trees and benches crowded
by the city's hidden secrets,
spirits seeking shelter from collective city clean-up crews.
A colorful, ragged, unenviable lot,
possessions fluttering like flags from the rail,
drying in the sun
Irony crowds my brows a moment
and I wonder why the church didn't
build a privacy fence
instead. |