wyrdwind

Dark Matter

It was like clutching a permafrost coal,

wandering empty streets several degrees below,

wondering what it was like to live in each house,

who would I be, if I were that girl? Lamplit rooms,

flicker frame lifeboats, distant shores.

Every night. For years.

However long it took, whatever came first,

water run out or ice numb my heart,

fiddled a little mp3 player, but nothing

ever sounded quite right. I was trying to find

some collection of notes, timbre, melody,

anything I recognized, a song so beautiful

it allowed me to exist in this world. I could sit so still

I’d jump scare folks in broad daylight, tread soft as snow,

play dress up guesswork at what was expected, is this

who belongs here? Will others catch on? The smile

never reached my eyes,

yet the concept of normal never crossed my mind,

was no aspirational height. Absolutely no desire

to be a productive member of this society,

moved by deepest love exclusively, neither money

nor ease nor prestige held the power to sway. Motivate.

Insufficient mass. Boring. Tedious. I am not an easy woman

to know.

People expect a reaction. Bright commotion.

That it’s only sparks leads to connection.

You must rely on my words, my

physicality, terroir. Enter inscrutable,

a black cavern older than life on land, whose size

you cannot grasp, where the slightest sound

folds and multiplies and carries back

as the cosmic ocean frothed with jasmine. Twig snap,

bone break. Butterfly, hurricane. My voice

is such a weight. I prefer to listen. Envelop.

Perhaps in some small way, on some wayward road,

somewhere you were hurt,

we’ve met before.