But then cyberspace was created by us so the mimicry is not double-edged but rotund, a mirrored carousel. A porous scrim. The wells I'm thinking of are children's lit--universal, beloved, and, plausibly cute, as in use-with-caution. And Sunday School lit, in my case the Bible (King James, old school). Christian Science Sunday School, the loneliest place in the world. In almost every other religion, if you need help, folks assemble, casseroles are offered along with good wishes and company. In C.S. everyone goes home and reads the texts. I'll take the casserole and a hug.
Oh. Another in my few The Common Ancestor poems names Jesus. But you get the idea.
The Common Ancestor,Chrysanthemum Edition
I was so there where we met upafter I kickedand you opened orI kicked you open.
Everyone kicks Mom.If they don't, a doctor's calledand Mother convertsto keep sharp objects away.
Judy, Tina, Sarah aftermy oldest sister so don't worryon her.
Three sacred rivers are sourcedin the common memory.Mom rode a rivulet home.
Sarah Sarai. A version of this poem appeared in Boog City Reader, Issue 83, 2013.
Buck Downs is the poetry editor. David Kirschenbaum is the mastermind.