half my atoms: the violently
vented innards of ancient stars.
half of hurtling: hurt.
sometimes it strikes eons after impact.
like one random night—old slap still
singing, old gorge still gouging—i go
outside, gaze up, mistake bright chaos
inside my head: labyrinths.
inside labyrinths: crystals.
should trauma jolt them loose:
kitchen tilts. plates supernova
neptune sounds like breath
pulsing from ocean depth,
if nothing is never not hurtling,
then nothing is never not hurt.
no wonder i shout myself awake.
no wonder i rise and stand
before the window.
all those lights to swallow
Alicia Bessette’s poems have appeared in Anima, Atlanta Review and The Main Street Rag. Her debut novel Simply From Scratch (Dutton/Plume) was an international bestseller. Visit her website at www.aliciabessette.com