I know what happened before I was born

from biology books and sex ed films.

Helical assortments of random

genetic essence

from the man known as

Charles Wesley Bickford

Wes, Dad

encounters same

from the woman

answering to the name

Mary Francis Summers

then Fewell      then Bickford      then Bergman

       Mary Francis, Mom:

 

hers

ensconced in a planet

of a cell

an ovum large enough

if well-lit

to be visible to naked eyes;

of her but unknown to her

no longer her but hers

within the darkness of her body

        an egg

      unfertilized but fertile

         primed to explode

           its haploid fuses

                waiting

for a match

to weld whole again within

the inner skin the

twisted ladder and begin

the doubling and redoubling

   of my life;

 

his

an invisible yang

in a mindless swarm

of one-legged fairies dancing

head-down on a pin-point

each tightly wrapped

in sinews, tail-whip-slashing

knobby head oozing

enzymes to dissolve

her chemical defenses,

semi-clonal meiotic

brethren tadpole-piglets

pressing a colossal

spherical teat—

a speed-eating contest

one would win

while a billion others died.

 

So I began before my life

to be

whoever/whatever

wherever

the genetic cogwheels meshed:

hands from Dad

eyes from Mom

combination

hair       feet       face

from both

a life inside

that cannot be ascribed.