Atomic It’s a reasonable question, one good friends usually get around to: “How do you envision God?” You reply, on the phone, before we flit to another and another subject: “I think of it as Jupiter’s gravitational pull, or the way atoms can be split and then split again, infinitely. It’s in there somewhere…” And then we are talking about a woman on the bus, or food, or politics, and I come to understand. I can let God be the space between diminishing matter. The solution that holds us together between discussions, between words. Our conversations are volcanic. Each idea erupts into being for consideration and review and hovers atmospheric until it diminishes dwindles really and sputters out. The rising market, the decline in music. Art, culture, God. These subjects compose our existence, our trajectory together. Each topic beautiful and whole, as we divide and display them to each other. We are forever seeking purpose, solace. As if the answers lie waiting between our words. But to share a definition, a specific vision, that seems a lot to ask. Nothing to hold in the palm of my hand just the flaming fragments of your infinite mind fluttering to Earth like stars.
Melody Wilson writes and teaches in Portland, Oregon. Recent work appears in Quartet, Briar Cliff Review, Amsterdam Quarterly, and The Shore. Upcoming work will be in Tar River Poetry, Whale Road Review, Timberline Review, and SWWIM. She has recently been awarded the 2021 Kay Snow Poetry Award and is Honorable Mention for the 2021 Oberon Poetry Award.