The Knitting, The Splitting, The Expanding

 

Can molecules recall 

that they shaped into cells,

cells into a kidney bean, into a seahorse,

a tiny life inside me?

Could I do it again if I wanted to?

If my molecules recall it – shouldn’t it happen?

My eggs are gone;

molecules could create an egg out of air.

Isn’t just knowing the pattern, the arrangement

the knitting, the splitting, the expanding?

 

Can molecules recall it?

Before we were obsessed with our own puny concerns

our lives, our idiocy and sorrows

before there was “we” 

It was only molecules, alone and beautiful.

Forming stars and gases and a planet and the ocean.

I am vague on the science; molecules are mysterious.

When I picture them it is not the diagrams from science class

the protons, neutrons, electrons with their paths drawn clearly

flattened beyond how exciting they are.

Molecules are a mystery, gray or black or almost translucent dots

flitting on the corners of my vision like dust motes.

 

I want molecules to recall how they made the ocean,

made my kidney bean, made my seahorse but

molecules don’t have a mission

they are free

more free than anything I can comprehend.

They flit in the corners of my vision, dust motes

they collide, lump together, split apart

their invisible presence comforts me.

They recall

They recall it all.

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