The Inventors

What will we think of next? Even paradise

was invented, perfect garden

surrounded by high walls, rusty nails

upholding the big gate's NO TRESPASSING sign.

The cookie-cut homes, ageless neighbors,

flowers that will never know the dirt of graves.

But everything has its opposite-

we invented that, too. The other side

of the fence, in the cold, where

we cover ourselves in skins of dead

animals, sharpen our daggers, and want.

History will say it was the engine of envy

that drove us off the cliffs of discontent.

Not the ache in a mother's breast

as she buries another child, bells of

laughter no longer cresting from the crib.

No. They'll look at our knees and think,

How

filthy

. From their towers, they'll joke

how small we seem.

Like ants

.

Even our language separates us.

We both have a word for water,

but paradise does not know the word

drown

.

They heard us singing and did not notice

the silhouette on the pyre.

They eyed us dancing under June's full moon

and said,

They must be happy

.

Who can blame them for believing

what they saw? Bodies

holding each other in the night,

against the darkness.

I have no excuse.

I was there, and I was also dancing.