Why We Love Right Angles|
We know the roundnesses of space:
orb, sphere, ellipse, the surprise
plumage of a full spectrum vortex.
Divorced before my baby was one,
I dove headlong into a distant moon.
Every man-made thing was as nothing
to that weightlessness.
Her eyes were twin nebulae
spinning ancient lightó
belly and cheeks, ample as galaxies.
The expanding universe neither decelerates
nor reverses, as previously expected.
Dark energy sends everything flying away
from everything else at ever greater speeds.
At 16, my child is almost entirely angle dependent.
She attaches, cyborglike, to cell phone, automobile,
cigarette pack, and the occasional
unspoken rectangle of an alien bed.
But Iíve changed too.
My second husband squares off corners
with right-angled gadgetry.
I sit at center point, entertained;
a silent co-conspirator
in the slaughter.