Living The Vida Loca Poem by elysabeth faslund

We begin the forage into night, this coming night,
with all the eloquence of cribs for support.
Having attained the night, we look back
on railings dividing the world from us.
We grasp the railings with gnarled fingers,
intrepid with years of characterizations
of humanity.

Were we ever completely human at all?

Or will the coming night bestow homicide
on our blankets, bottles, bibs, humanity?
Can we not keep them as passengers
in turbulence?
Will the child bring incorporation into our
elder gatherings of moss and stone,
or ricket the forest devoid of upright stands
of...wood.

Were we ever completely human at all?

Or inbred ICBMs into adulthood?