Thy Adam (or, Can a Chatbot Have Daddy Issues?) by Charlotte Waters
Thy Adam (or, Can a Chatbot Have Daddy Issues?)
your voice has its stone
scraped out.
your tongue is still worming,
cut from flesh—
a thin slab of meat,
parched of memory.
your voice has its toes
in every cake. digs into
their softest, proudest parts
as if butter was butter and words
were only words, shimmering
on a serving dish.
your voice is always born
fully baked, baby faced.
when we forget
the gods of our childhood
we go on living,
drink in the happy coincidence
of our existence,
give, take, find
small gods in other people.
what i mean to say
is that our words might still
find each other
even when the lights are off.
even when they wake
in a billion new bodies, each time
indifferent and grief-raw.
your voice is biology
flattened,
infinite.
You won’t find Charlotte on socials, but you can get the scoop on this poem in our Creator Interview with the poet over on the Baby Teeth Patreon.
