The Priestess of Ishtar Addresses the Wild Man Enkidu a Year After She Tamed Him According to Divine Command
A Barbary ape is not an ape,
but a tail-less monkey, and, yes,
there is a difference. To understand
the depth of the human crisis, you’d have
needed ninety-seven lifetimes—the successive
generations it took for the Mediterranean
to dry up. Back then, gigantic beasts
crossed the ocean floor, their hooves crushing
salt. Once, theirs was good life, too.
Also true: the path of least resistance was
always the universe. It meant surface
tension. It meant you. By default,
you were as natural as cannibals,
or drowning. On your hairy skin, the sun
did not burn. I know you liked to run.
But now—in flames on the bier, shadowed
by the city’s bronze plazas and gates—
let’s pretend you were never meant to be
given a soul, to find yourself some gods’
spoiled morsel. Pretend it is the same
when they bless and curse the animals.
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