a.k.a.
richard perkins
They called themselves
Mother and Father
But we weren't certain
This was true
When their hands became
Paperweights of horn
On our vellum flesh
And the kids
The lambs, the calves
Became silent in their pens..
When the stars had further
Receded from our own
We placed our parents in
Clay pots, anonymously,
Feeling stupid for keeping
This ivory dust
And the coffins of imposters.
How were we supposed to know?
Why are we supposed to care?
To finally learn that
Fire lives in the sea
And every shadow casts a light -
Trying not to forget
There is another place
Where intimacy is often kept.
