A Genetics Major Falls in Love with an Archaeologist

Holland Smith

Lend an ear for a moment, will you, my dear?
159 years ago, a monk proved inheritance in sprouts,

That traits are crafted by a complex series
Of protein expressions and dominance patterns.

Genetic codes are etched into the fabric of our being,
Passed from mother to child like a sequential heirloom,

Unfolding the pages for the blueprint of us
Like a paper crane spreading its wings to soar.

What I mean to say is that, in your book of bones,
I aim to be your favourite page, shaped by the divinity of ribosomes.

I wish to become the lines you read and reread while
Trying to drink in their glory to the fullest,

A beloved story fused into my newly woven tissues
All for you to study to your heart’s content.

You dust the clay off of my skin,
A new piece of history for you to restore to its former glory;

I sink into your touch, contented by the rhythmic sweep
Of the brush. A missing piece you never knew you needed.

Thousands of years before Gregor Mendel discovered hereditary patterns,
When Jesus was but a child

Shaking leaves out of tangled tresses, the dawn shone
Gold like Eden upon the world. This world which

Recycled the materials of you and I, again and again until the end of time.
We were once foundations of another, yet now you are my

Crisp apple, fruit of sin and wisdom, borne of carbon
And stardust in a heavenly garden.

Could I become your Eve, bearer of dreams unborn
And the original owner of the nucleotide pairings passed from man to man?

Maybe we could be a lost monument someday, ashen statues in the rubble;
But for now, I just wish to sit among the wildflowers with you.

Perhaps it is fate,
Or perhaps it is in our very nature.