Innocence

When I was a child,

I declared that meat was grown

in fields, between the rows

of golden grain, though I knew

that wasn’t true.

They can nurture

it now in labs, I’ve heard,

making prophetic

my naïveté.

But back then, my Christ

was somewhat kinder—

all had enough to eat,

on that holy, grassy knoll,

and twelve baskets

were brought back up—

loaves only, not a martyred

fish in sight.

If you looked between the clouds

you would see them, I said,

as if that too were sea

and you could travel anywhere

and breathe.          

Andreas Gripp

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