Michael Meyerhofer - The First Expedition

Our bodies are countries. We come
looking for spice, better science,

ways to preserve the fruits of the kill
but we find instead, moving deeper

into the mainland, another language.
The natives in strange dress,

salty and painted. We send diplomats.
They bicker, someone insults the other

without really meaning to, or exactly
meaning to, messages are sent

and soon ships will be packed
with the greased swords of bitterness,

the sharp helmets of conquistadors.
Love will be warped into revenge

and past a certain point
nothing will stop it, it will end

with something burning—
but before all that

a simple, daring venture into
the coast, all tangled with jungle,

coming through suddenly
to a clearing and

finding someone there. Both staring,
no conflict yet

because there’s no desire to talk.
Later there will be introductions,

perhaps even some bastard child
who will never fit in anywhere—

but for now, dizzy with each other,
they bang their gods together

and invent a language
they’ll never speak again.

Michael Meyerhofer

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-first-expedition/