Poetry |

“Science Matters” & “Going Through”

Science Matters

 

A quantum fluctuation

Can delete the universe

In a matter of seconds

I read all about it & still don’t understand

It has to do with the theory of vacuum decay

I could spend all day trying to figure that out

But I don’t have time

Because in approximately four billion years

Our galaxy will collide

With the Andromeda galaxy

& both will be destroyed

& in the process form another galaxy

My father once had a Ford Galaxie

My sister almost killed us in it

Braking just in time before

We hurtled off a cliff

Afraid to move or breathe

So close to the edge

We were as silent as space

I felt a weird calm

Like knowing the universe could vanish

In less than a sneeze

Does colossal loss somehow

Ease smaller losses

But who’s counting

Rivers trees starlings choking on our exhaust

I loved that car

Yellow like sunlight on wheels

I got my driver’s license & the next day crunched

The Galaxie with a telephone pole

I can’t remember what kind of car came next

I was starting to move into my own constellation

& my sister got married & had children who now

Have children & my parents flew past Andromeda

One fluctuation after another & what comes next

Is a subject for contemplation

At three in the morning lying in bed

Like something as cryptic as a quantum

Carried by something magnificent

We’ve colossally dented

No foot no brake

The cliff coming toward us

 

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

 

Going Through

 

Your student plagiarizes for three paragraphs

& then writes his own mercifully brief conclusion:

The author is very stereotypical in this essay her being

an angry feminist most feminists if not all

want to be men that is why there

so bitter I know because I grew up in marin county.

 

You stare at the “there” and think, Now there

is something I can fix.

 

& it’s crucial to pour a glass of wine

because you should get away from your desk

& not write an email, saying, So far, you have an F grade

in the class because even though you grew up in Marin County,

you are a dumbass.

 

In the chair by the window in the apartment you rented

across the street from the homeless encampment,

you & your wine read the next chapter of the novel,

What Are You Going Through?

The main character is staying with a friend who has cancer.

The friend plans to commit suicide before the last ravages of the disease.

This book is also about climate change & the last ravages of that disease.

This book has great writing,

but it makes you cry in your sleep.

You wake to the river of air conditioner noise,

to smoke from the wildfires burning the hair in your nostrils,

to your husband who has just walked in the door.

He spends his days cleaning the litter box

or driving around the locked-down town,

looking for a house he can’t afford or a job that doesn’t exist.

He drives through the broiling afternoons, past the city limits

toward orchards of almonds & peaches.

 

Some days you go with him because

he wants to show you what’s still possible

out by the river, the egret & geese,

the fast-moving current, that autumn is here

& there, there, there

are dark pools of coolness under the leaves.

Contributor
Susan Browne

Susan Browne’s first book of poems, Buddha’s Dogs (2004), was chosen by Edward Hirsch for the Four Way Books Intro Prize. Her second book, Zephyr (2010), received the Editor’s Prize at Steel Toe Books. Her third collection, Just Living (2019), received the Catamaran Poetry Prize. www.susanbrownepoems.com

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