Vertebrate Grove

Vertebrate Grove

Paul J. Pastor

No one taught you how to play,
or how to stretch and yawn when you awaken.
no one ever showed you where your shoulders
meet your neck. How much you have in common
with the cat, the ostrich chick, the loping elk, the whale.

But what is kinship, in the mind of a fool?
Human being, you alone of all the earth
are capable of sin, of forgetting you are
housed in bones. Deserts grow. Forests birth
new forests. Seas eat polar ice, and rise, rejoicing.
On Ararat, the barren Ark loses its tarred spine,
as snows blow in, as clouds pour over the mountain.

In the place where lesser gods chew jewels, Noah
clucks at Gilgamesh, knowing three days underwater
will not drown his ego. In the place your shoulders
meet your neck, human being, my dear relative,
you have lost your sense of feeling.

---

Paul J. Pastor
Poet & Editor

Paul is a poet, author, and editor (with Penguin Random House). His debut poetry collection, Bower Lodge, is slated for a December 2021 release from Fernwood Press, joining his nonfiction works on spirituality, The Face of the Deep and The Listening Day. His poetry has appeared in various outlets and has been anthologized by New York Quarterly.

Photography by Iswanto Arif