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A female in transition, halfway between
chimpanzee and human, she stands upright,
with a brain small as a chimp’s and
a redesigned pelvis ready to bring forth
in more pain. Yet she still can swing
from branch to branch with her long
simian arms and curved fingers,
make a nest in a rainforest tree
to sleep in safely at night. She changed first
below the waist, as if being bipedal
was better for foraging, or she was done
with knuckle walking, felt elegant
standing, even though she was short
and couldn’t get very far
on her new, stiffer-boned feet.
She might have clung to her freedom
to live among leaves a while longer,
in paradise not quite lost.
I’d like to try out a body like hers,
have it both ways before going extinct.
~


~~~
Poem copyright 2026 Catherine Gonick
A native of California’s Bay Area, Catherine Gonick lives in the Hudson Valley with her husband, with whom she works in a company that seeks to slow the rate of global warming. Her publications include Split Daughter of Eve (Sheila-Na-Gig, 2026)
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I love this! I wrote one of my first college papers on her.
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What a thought—A comfy tree for an abode.
Sweet thoughts for our intractable human future!
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Yes, I wish I could go back in time for a moment and enter their world. Thank you for that reminder of our beginning, Catherine.
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