Two of Each – Poetry by Kathleen McIntosh

Hieronymus Bosch – Ark on Mount Ararat (obverse)

The first time it was tried
all that pecking
molting hatching swarming
took place below decks,
amid grasping claws,
protruding stomachs and
padded paws, feathers, pouches,
flicking tongues and ugly snouts.
They rode it out
together until sighting dry land –
the unlovely opossums,
appalling pythons,
secretive moles and
whatever used to live under
now-melted poles.

This time we’ll create them from old DNA
dug up from sediment or scraped from cave floors –
then release two of each to slither or soar
through whatever passes in the new world, for air.

Will re-born salmon writhe
in the grizzly’s jaws?
Will the blind salamander
swim blithely away?
Will humans still blanch at the lion’s roar?


About the Poet

After a peripatetic childhood, Kathleen McIntosh settled in New England where she taught literature and language for many years.  She began to write poetry several years ago, when retirement opened a door to this aspirational space; currently she serves as Contest Chairperson for the Connecticut Poetry Society.

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