Evolutionary Backup
Was there speak of paper stacks,
inked and sealed by dry wax stamping?
As if a signature could forge what her womb enacts—
a trail to oneness,
a stampede racing to take the place of thee,
to "win," to "be,"
to claim a name through legal, speak?
I, and the flesh, the first vow;
then no child is a stranger.
No child should ever be told that parents unmet
by the parameters of a societal marriage—
those paper cages—
are a play with no stages.
A union isn’t signed in halls
or beneath a church steeple;
it is written in the moments before woeful tomorrows,
a worldview constructed in rearview.
It is not written in the formation of a face,
carved to look like them two.
To take that truth from woman
would be to take it from you.
If God was the Minister when the two first collided,
and the ancient pull of nature was the only law provided,
then the child is the Covenant, a decision united.
Therefore, and henceforth:
It cannot be divided.
I can’t believe, of all these beasts God created,
our pair was from a whim—
and the plants before a sun to feed them.
Laughable, to put faith in a being
making himself both witness and minister
to wed his creation in a holy matrimonial manner
that’s just supposed to be taken
as a matter-of-fact decision.
Distasteful revisions.
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