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17. evolutionary wheat 



heather, she shades her 
stalks about me, her wheaten arms, 
rustling with a fertility forgotten in 
genetic evolution; they say 
our love emerged from the brushfires of 
natural selection, weeding enough so as 
to avoid overgrowth.  in prehistoric times, 
we would exist as extra labor without 
added reproduction. 

     she fans my burning breath while we  
lie under the wind-thrown shadows of  
the porchside trees; her long, ripe  
body, bursting with seed, subdues the 
fright of the combines; by divining 
water, her gentle touch understands 
the ways to elicit liquid, flowing smoothly, 
voluminously; a catalyst of good irrigation. 
     she tickles me with her hair-fine 
bristles, whispering "hayfever hayfever" as if 
inducing allergy; but we both giggle, knowing 
if she pressed her head full against my body, soft  
sweet, i would lick the grains from her hair.  and we 
would embrace like persephone and her lover, joyously.   

... on the dark half, six months of the year, she 
leaves her homeland to live with her husband 
mark, the farmer who reaps the yearly harvest with her; then,
autumn and winter exist in my heart, watching her seeds  
shaken and shaken again.  as they fall, he grinds 
them in a mortar and makes her into flour, his 
livelihood.     sweet heather, i would wrest 
you away, but you have eaten the pomegranate seeds of 
marriage; i can only cry like a first bridesmaid, watching
you given away.  although in time, you must return, re-emerge,
for your season is that of eternity   summer  winter   
spring  fall  --  golden wheat, encapsulating
your radiant energy. 

     the entomologists say that ants and bees  
have evolved similarly, with a worker class which 
struggles to sustain itself, all females.  like us, too, 
these insects are often ignited by the intense heat of 
magnifying-glass eyes.



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