Jayne Marek
Like a magnet, balancing draw and resist.
A planet and its sun, constellation,
the Scales of Libra make for paradox:
the Cat in the telescope lens looks back
from the black, the aperture celestial
in conjunction of eye with eye, lens with sky,
the dark under our ribs and everywhere
as if the cage we live in is so wide.
Singularity—am I alone or everything?
The singularity—I am no longer a thing.
The universe becomes a string of digits.
The Cat licks one paw, shape of a zero.
***
Jayne Marek has published writings and art photos in Rattle, Salamander, Bloodroot, One, Chestnut Review, Typehouse, Northwest Review, Spillway, Eclectica, Calyx, QWERTY, Women’s Studies Quarterly, Notre Dame Review, and elsewhere. Winner of the Bill Holm Witness poetry contest, she has been nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart Prizes. Her six poetry collections include In and Out of Rough Water (2017) and The Tree Surgeon Dreams of Bowling (2018), with another book, Dusk-Voiced, due in 2022.