into this world
beautiful,
but none maintain
the mantle of that
stainlessness,
and though all
become sinners, no one
leaves original.
There is no expression
on the newborn's face,
no gesture
or posture which
cannot be crowded
into place—
like the rumpled flesh
of a peach
around its pit—
by the endless
procession of weeks
and semesters
and the made-pretty
speech of old, crook-
backed instructors
who never could
themselves imagine
any other way
than to squeeze
any artlessness
or ignorance away
in those punishing
vices called practice
and habit.
