From The Kenyon Review, New Series, Spring 1987, Vol. IX, No, 2
The Chicago Museum of Science and Industry, 1963
The first was curled and so small
It shone like a remote star caught
In the crossed bars of the museum lights.
The next was something like a fish,
The sign said, the one after it
Like a fetal bird budding wings.
I stalled before the one which seemed
Irremediably human, the arms elongated,
Erupting into hands, the head lolling
Over the small universe of the body
Whose ribs branched delicately
Behind flesh shining like unlit wax.
I stood before it, amazed
That I had been star, fish, bird,
Then this impeccable sleeper . . . while beneath
The pastel of my stiff new Easter dress,
My bones nosed out in new directions,
My cells flared up, melding the future
Architecture of desire
Which would drive me to find my true shape
In the dark riddle of the other.
