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 the rooster sang. What was it that rattledme so astrologically? Or does it matter onlythat I was 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…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, November/December 2023