I’m Trying to be a Person
on whom nothing is lost. I have ruined several custards with scalding impatience.
Not a good cry, or a bad cry, or a cry for this teacup
that holds—so gently!—everyone in space so there is time
to cry. When something is lost, only that something
knows where it is, even if it comes back silent as an uncut page.
Forgive me for thinking
I should not have to bear lost buttons, earrings, mittens, children.
What if I cannot keep
things in orbit? If I cannot slow the fury
that spins things away from me, in all dimensions,
so that the carrot forced from the tar-black soil offers up
a golden ring encircling the root—
Image: ” Orbitals (radial), Gallery of Computation “ by Jared Tarbell, licensed under CC 2.0