saving schrödinger’s cat
I read an article on my phone
on the train
about changing
truth at the quantum level
about making the quarks choose
sides & I thought
about the time in the tall grass
in the garden of broken cars
in your mother’s backyard
& I thought about the bird’s nest
in the dead engine
and the prize abandoned
in the center, crooked
& cracked
and robin’s egg blue
in the dark when it’s morning
the night’s line blurs, becomes
branches tangled like the attic’s
Christmas lights.
it’s still
too much. I kiss my thumb
to lingering stars, navigate
the infinite with my body
until it fades into rosy rust
and birdsong
after they sign the papers
she curves in on herself —
a lawn chair folded
after the first frost
her dirty spade chases
the sun’s arc past her
hydrangeas, as it falls it smudges
her chest. that’s nothing
really, just a chamber
for recycled blood. this is the world,
she mutters something about seeds some
thing about knowing
whether they’re planted
or languishing
in pretty foil packets
in messy dark drawers. her hands hunger
for soil they tear earth
from earth — they are long
spindled and starving
and this is how deep
to dig if she buries them
now they’ll sleep beneath
the coming snow
they’ll slumber
underfoot like bears
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