Genetic Gravel

Meg Freer

Lightbulbs scintillate and alembics distill crystals
in a vat of wine into diamond nanoclusters.

Left-handed sugar molecules with no sweetness
confuse the forensics of the nervous system.

We plug our shoulder blades into the earth
and wake to familiar patterns in wretched dust
sifted from the debris of our twisted DNA.

The Science

This poem is somewhat surreal, but it weaves chemistry and genetics into a commentary on how appearances and names for things can be deceptive (something called sugar might not be sweet), how simple components can combine or change into something that sounds more valuable than it is (light that “scintillates”, or crystals renamed “wine diamonds”), and how hard it is to escape or change genetic tendencies.

The Poet

Meg Freer grew up in Montana and studied musicology in Minnesota and New Jersey, where she also worked in scholarly book publishing. She now teaches piano and theory, takes photos, enjoys the outdoors year-round in Ontario, and wishes she had more time to write poetry. Her photos, poems, and prose have been published in journals such as Ruminate, Vallum, Poetry South, Eastern Iowa Review, and Rat’s Ass Review. In 2017 she attended the Summer Literary Seminars in Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia. Her poems have been shortlisted and have won awards in several contests in both the U.S. and Canada. 

Next poem: Hottentot Speaks by Jenny Mitchell