As the Physicist Searches for the Graviton

tragedies are small, she thinks,
awaiting the tiny violence,
the glimpse of a shadow in the ether.
she fires photons
down a four mile long tunnel,
she watches them blink
across the distance,
collide, explode. her practiced heart
no longer mimics their frantic journey
and she thinks of Auden, of
Breughel’s painting

and remembers when he pushed her
to the floor. he held her arms,
ground her wrist bones together,
breathed “whore” into her ear
as she wondered why she hadn’t vacuumed,
as she told herself she’d vacuum
tomorrow, as she watched the tiny particles
of dirt on the cream carpet and traced the blue lines
of flowers with her eyes and waited
for her body to shatter.

she aims another photon down the tunnel,
pulls the trigger, traces the trajectory.
she waits for the collision, the ephemeral violence.
light fragments shatter, spin, shimmer,

and she looks away, out the window,
at the oceans and waves of blue sky,

as one tiny shadow separates
and flits softly through the ether
before vanishing.


4 thoughts on “As the Physicist Searches for the Graviton

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