When the corpses became embryos,
Long-dormant genes firing into life,
Dead flesh ablaze with crackling purpose,
We assumed
That it was only a siren song –
A final throe, a last hurrah –
And that the comfortable quiet of decay
Would settle softly, like a shroud, in time.
But six months later, when the streets
Were crawling with newborn aberrations,
All unaccustomed limbs in untoward places,
And eyes on stalks that tracked us avidly,
We had to reevaluate. In rooms
Where treaties had been signed, we had to ask
If these new things were human, and if so,
What rights, what burdens, their warped selves might claim.
It was a complicated process. Now,
With benefit of hindsight, we can see
That what horrific violence did ensue
Was plain misunderstanding, and both sides
Could claim some culpability for that.
The dead turned into monsters. True enough.
But monsters have their uses – and besides,
What purpose does a body serve if not
To incubate the next new life to come?
Of course, we’re still adjusting. But with time,
I think we’ll see that this “apocalypse”
Was more an opportunity to learn
What’s better than to bury or to burn.
