Trinity, Newfoundland
Trinity, Newfoundland

My memories are genetically encoded,
Resequenced DNA, imparting knowledge
And experiences that never existed at
Least in my present memory, genomic
Complexities that if I attempted to unravel
Would irrevocably alter who and what I am,
A seafaring woman created from an aspirate
Of anonymous bone marrow.

From this red-yellow bone liquid, my
Creators derived mesenchymal stem cells
To develop a mutation-free, heart-pulsing
Embryo, secretive histogenesis completed
And monitored in an automated DNA
Sequencing-incubator, my dispassionate
Borosilicate glass womb.
 

As the blastula formed and convoluted,
My genes were encoded with elaborate past
Knowledge and experiences: Newfoundland
Childhood, death of parents, academic
Degrees attained, Arctic oceanographic
Research conducted, scientific articles
Peer-reviewed and published. 

Concurrently my genetically contrived life
Was impressed on the “real world.” While in
Deep sleep, quietly submerged in a crystal
Chamber of life-sustaining liquids, my
Creators generated a certificate of birth,
Parentage, place and city – QEII Hospital,
Halifax, Nova Scotia. However, within
S
afeguards hybrid-chain programming,
The unexpected occurred. 

Gasps of cold air, pains of new life, realization
Of existence, I awakened unexpectedly to
D
roning aircraft turboprop engines. Clad
In a surgical scrub suit, I was connected
To neural and cardiac electrodes in a
Specially equipped CP-140 Aurora flying
Over the Northwest Atlantic to my new
Home, Trinity, Newfoundland, a secluded
Fishing village.

From the bubbled observer’s window on the
Aurora, my first glimpse of the world was
The majestic Grand Banks, alabaster icebergs
Drifting in turquoise water, and seabirds
Circling colorful fishing trawlers. Upon descent,
Newfoundland came into view: craggy rock
Cliffs, secluded fishing villages, and St. John’s
Harbour. 

Such an awakening was not what my creators
Had planned; however, those first-shaping
Sights were engrained permanently into my
Heart and soul. Whether by accident or by
Predestination, I am a seafaring woman with
Saltwater in my veins, navigating open oceans,
Charting my own destiny and true course.

Was it an accident or predestined that the narrator of this poem awakened when and where she did? Perhaps her creators planned her awakening to “those first-shaping sights” as the Aurora made descent along the Newfoundland Avalon Peninsula.

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