by Leslie Adrienne Miller
Perhaps it’s a thread that needs to be pulled,
a single stitch caught in the crux.
Whole word in French and Spanish,
vertical axis of Cartesian three
loaning its fragile branch to a boy
in theory. On y va. Let’s go There.
What happens to unrepaired sequences
in subsequent generations? Semivowel,
blown umbrella, arrow reversed in wind,
frizzy blot of genetic code directing the symphony
of a trillion sperm, a single Y. . .might fold over,
line up these similar patches of genetic sequence,
and then accidentally delete everything
that lies in between. Je est un autre.
If the face is a christening in flesh,
the boy of him is its opposite,
raising the tent of bones in which
he will harbor all the starry anomalies
that a knowledge of God cannot undo.
Leslie Adrienne Miller is author of six collections of poetry including Y, The Resurrection Trade and Eat Quite Everything You See from Graywolf Press, and Yesterday Had a Man in It, Ungodliness, and Staying Up For Love from Carnegie Mellon University Press. Professor of English at the University of Saint Thomas in Saint Paul, Minnesota, she holds a Ph.D. from the University of Houston, an M.F.A. from the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop, an M.A. from the University of Missouri, and a B.A. from Stephens College.
© The Antioch Review 2015