Becoming Particulate
When a voice met the resonant frequency of the object,when the song crashed into glass as invisible waves,at last I began to vibrate. Finally! I exploded like a garagewindow the year theme so astrologically? Or does it matter onlythat I rattled, propelled from my brittle bunkerinto a new position, compromised now by such beautyas mist caressing a mountain, or how heavythe satchel of ashes lands against my ribcage? I praymy recollection of the neighbor dissolves into nothingwhen we leave this town, that however much the songI love rattled him too, that he forgets me entirelyfor he exploded in a different way. Somethingabout my mother is I learned to dry plastic baggiesupside down. Though I’d never plant grass in a placeI’m meant to stay, I try to reach every last seedwith my mouth now the promise of leavingglows the horizon. Learning to speak the language of mums,I ask myself how the fear of smallparticles affects my everyday experience. Today I givethanks for the way, in pestilence, living has gone on.I remember Dilly by her bones, now pulverized, likedust of the dead, in whose light we still read our future.
