| I have faith in the single glossy capsule of a butterfly egg. I have faith in the way a wasp nest is never quiet and never wants to be. I have faith that the pile of forty painted turtles balanced on top of each other will not fall as the whole messy mass makes a scrabble-run for the creek and away from a fox’s muddy paws. I have been thinking of you on these moonless nights— nights so full of blue fur and needle-whiskers, I don’t dare linger outside for long. I wonder if scientists could classify us a binary star—something like Albireo, four-hundred light years away. I love that this star is actually two— one blue, one gold, circling each other, never touching— a single star soldered and edged in two colors if you spy it on a clear night in July. And if this evening, wherever you are, brings you face to face with a raccoon or possum— be careful of the teeth and all that wet bite. During the darkest part of the night, teeth grow longer in their mouths. And if the oleander spins you still another way—take a turn and follow it. It will help you avoid the spun-light sky, what singularity we might’ve become. Copyright @ 2014 by Aimee Nezhukumatathil. Used with permission of the author. |
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