A Glimpse of Starlight

Hey friends. I am aware that my last post was in October. It’s now March. A lot of things have happened in that span—I graduated college, for one thing, and long-time followers will know what an utter miracle that is. More reflections on that to come, perhaps. I also moved apartments, and now I have a big-girl job, and for the first time in three and a half years I have evenings and weekends and mental margin to read and write what I want to. And it’s been so good. Like, way more enjoyable than I though it would be. A 9-5 job—who knew the joys of it, the freedom? But also I’m mentally tired, more than I realized, and all the poetry I’ve cobbled together has felt flat and honestly so discouraging. I feel like I peaked years ago and now I’m just fooling about like a forty-year-old athlete past his prime, training with teenagers on the cusp of dominance.

I forbade myself from reading any non-fiction, intellectual books for my first month post-grad. It was all fantasy and narrative and stories to get lost in. That was wise and needed, but even now, three months out, I’m not as motivated as I imagined I’d be to dive into personal research and projects. I’m getting there. But like seedlings in winter I think maybe I’ve needed to hibernate. And like the oak tree growth is slow. But also, spring is coming. It is almost here.

All that to say: I want to write more. More frequently and more consistently, and I don’t know what that will look like (poetry? articles? Substack? revising old essays?), but I will keep you all updated. Thanks as always for sticking around. ❤

In the meantime here’s a poem I don’t think is great but I do like the idea. Science and poetry forever, baby.

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“Tin is magnetic in the literal sense of the word. The effect is so weak that it could be considered non-magnetic for all practical purposes.”

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if God was Earth’s magnetic field

i must be made of tin.
your ore of iron casts its net
over this quivering earth 
and hovers over us as we extract
oxygen from plants, 
energy from sugar,
meaning from chaos.
your sloshing molten core holds all things steady
except my affections, except my will.
the softest fire can warp me
and the smallest pinky contort me
but your radiant sheath of energy 
cannot seem to spin my spindle self 
in your direction.

i must be made of tin.
does tin mourn its unaffectedness,
its imperviousness to the siren song
of electricity’s unseen rivers?
does tin envy steel’s acquiescence 
to the pulling pole? 
steel, which holds up skyscrapers. 
steel, which so easily surrenders.
i am no steel. and yet
i wish to be. 

i must be made of tin, and therefore
somewhere deep inside,
somewhere unmeasurable,
somewhere too small to spy,
my atoms must shift and shiver
like leaves to the light,
bending gladly to your inexorable force.