Winter 2006 • Vol. XXVIII No. 1 Writing in Code: Literature and the Genome |

When the Young Geneticist Was Asked, “Aren’t You Worried about the Implications of Your Work?” with a Toss of Her Sun-Streaked Hair, She Declared, “No, Not at All. I Can’t Wait to Fuck a Clone”

O flawed species,who has fashioned spears from saplings,notched points of flint, slicedthe muscular, coral flesh of salmon,pounded tapa from the inner bark of the mulberry tree. Large brains balanced on slenderstalks of spine, we have gazedthrough ground glass, listening for the musicstill humming from the violentbirth of the universe. Soaring into the noon sky like a silver god,bursting the four-chambered heartsof people we've never shareda cup of tea with, breathof steam rising between us. Wondrous species riddled with greed,steeped in cruelty, still stitchingone life to another with bone needle.After all these voyages around the sunwe continue to lie down together, swim in the small oceans of each other's irises,mothers drunk on the fragranceof one tiny damp scalp. Strangers break downthe doors of fiery buildings for each other,siphon blood from their own swollen veins. Meanwhile, flounder genes have been slippedinto strawberries to keep them from freezing,a bit of

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Witnesses

By Ellen Bass

O flawed species,who has fashioned spears from saplings,notched points of flint, slicedthe muscular, coral flesh of salmon,pounded tapa from the inner bark of the mulberry tree. Large brains balanced on […]

Memories Are Made of This

By Judith Strasser

O flawed species,who has fashioned spears from saplings,notched points of flint, slicedthe muscular, coral flesh of salmon,pounded tapa from the inner bark of the mulberry tree. Large brains balanced on […]

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