A Sense of Things
New poem by Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb
How do I understand
these strange times
when, in discovering
my humanity, I lose
my sense of life? Giving
in to ingenuity, I forget
the nature in which I am
embedded, my body,
spirit, brain, mind,
neurons—words
for the elusive
structures that provide
the concept of self,
define Homo sapiens,
or create the contrast
that forms the other.
I know the same-celled
vermin, even individuals,
who dwell within my home
and how to kill
an infestation, yet think
about half robotic
cockroaches designed
to carry miniature
microphones to find
our kind in disasters,
search and rescue
experiments. Then
there are the rodents
caged in labs, engineered
for research, genetic
codes altered, blueprints
to expand our lifespan.
Have I misunderstood
the cost of kinship?
