Illustration by Leanne Canty
Your life began as a zygote, love,
a one-celled being that rapidly divides.
Though that is partially a lie.
There was a start before that—go ask your dad.
It’s so human to want to point to a time
and say, “Here. Here’s where it all began.”
Like the day we planted the zinnia seeds.
We used that date to predict their bloom.
And when the first summer squash blossomed yellow,
we knew there’d be zucchinis soon.
But there was a beginning before the seeds,
before the blossoms, before the dirt.
It’s impossible to say the true start of things.
Like which sign in the Zodiac comes first?
And where in the West begins the zephyr?
And at what stage do zinfandel grapes become wine?
We want so much to divide forever
into bite-sized chunks we can understand.
When did the zebra first have stripes?
And when did the zebra fish grow new fins?
The story always starts before it begins.
When did the zipper change the way we wear sweaters?
And when did we learn that zinc helps us see better?
And when did I first know that I loved you?
Back when you were a zygote. And before that, too.