My father’s father,
A man of stone, steel, his wife,
Cornucopia,
Table ever full.
My father mapped the inner
Space, architecture
Of the mind, so that
Each would be edified in
Their turn. My mother’s
Father typed on neat
Vellum and onion skin the
Formulae of our
Salvation, and with
Them travelled to the furthest
Reaches of the globe.
His wife, of the hearth,
Homestead, warmth, welcome. Mother
Tuned the lyre of
The lost, adjusting
Neurochemistry so that
The darkness would pass.
I am all of them.
I am light speed, silicon,
Atom split to pierce
The veil of life and
Death, that the reaper would sheathe
His scythe for just one
Moment longer, that
Last moment, the first moment,
The only one we
Have. Across millions
Of years, millions of people,
Brought us to today.
Melodramatic Physician 