Marjorie A. Buettner...

The Surface of Last Scattering

Unable to sleep, last night I imagined that I could hear the ringing echo of the big bang, listening to the beginning of matter as if it were my heart beat, the disintegration and reintegration of particles colliding, resurfacing, submerged to mimic the chaos in my veins. Just so, 47 years too late, I think, if only I could have shaken my father awake from his own reenactment of this first disorder, his last scattering becoming a solitary flight, our only heritage.

looking for your grave prairie grass rippling all the way down hill

WHCHaibun 2001-06-05