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published
in Pennine Platform, No 63, 2008, ISSN 0303-140X
Regarding Motion...
One
imperfect rose blooms on my radiator shelf.
Its
beauty snatches my breath; its scent troubles my hall.
Yet
last night, my book insisted it is no more
than
a balance between random movement
and
structure, a fluctuation in the restless ‘middle world’
of
nuclei and particle.
I
read the piece on Brownian Motion twice, until page,
pillow,
feet, all the bits of life’s machinery,
became
particles wandering at random,
and
a bicycle might as well be made of custard.
Used
to readers recalling only bangs and Bunsen burners,
my
popular author explained patiently.
This
morning I understand (I think) but cannot
believe.
I see beauty framed in the mirror on my wall.
I
feel the soft wax of petal. They are real, lasting,
like
myself. Not so of course. Both rose and woman
must
travel with the arrow of time.
My
fingers are too heavy. A petal slips, ready
to
cast its atoms upon my carpet. For a moment longer
I
may savour scent and colour, then I must turn urgently
away,
for there is much to do, before my atoms also,
rearrange
in that endless, random dance of little things.
Pauline Kirk
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