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 it all.