By Taegan MacLean

Tiny quarks appear

& disappear,

threaded together

in a sort of cosmic yarn.

 

A yarn layered

& threaded thousands

of times, forming

insignificant squiggles

seen only in microscopes.

 

Squiggles which then compose

cells in the same way

pool noodles & other

such toys float

& linger together

in the backyards

of suburban homes.

 

Millions of cells,

contentedly blinking,

pumping, valving,

in an overwhelming

array of tones

& jobs. Splitting

every day only to

die every day,

in the exhausting

upkeep of me…

 

Me in a brown brick

building. Me in my apartment

with a neighbor who

screams every night

at his T.V. or

partner or himself.

A human howl. Rising

& falling & rising

& falling.

 

Me who will sometimes

walk to the screaming man’s

door & quietly stand there.

My ear to the door,

consumed by

the small drama

occurring within

the brickwork.

 

Me who imagines

breaking into

the man’s apartment

using some innovation.

Not to thieve or

cause trouble.

Simply to know more

about the man.

To flip through

his T.V. channels

& inspect his photos.

 

Me who yearns to conclude,

to say - yes, the man

who screams is real.

He stutters

his way through life

just like me.

The both of us

filled with cells.

Blinking, valving, cyclical

cells. Which are really

squiggles. Cosmic yarns

composed of quarks,

flitting in & out

of existence.

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