undocumented gravities

what bends the fabric

One physicist told me: picture a bowling ball in the fabric,
the fabric caving in—why bodies fall toward one another,

spinning. How spacetime curves. My grandmother spoke of weight
in other ways: the hush between names in an unread ledger of losses.

I finger that line, the jagged edge of scab, the raw grain Ellison heard
scraping every blues. What do I do with this mass of memory

now bending every moment into its warp? She lost her mother
to fog-lung at nine, crossed alone to a house with chandeliers,

quiet corrections. Her eyes went dark when I asked about the war.
She kissed me once, called me her lost sister’s name,

then whispered into the rosary beads drawn from pocket to lips.
A song she didn’t teach me hums in my sleep.

Here is a shape made of silence. A dark bloom:
cells within cells, watched by a thousand quiet endings

spreading? Grief is such a mass, perhaps, when left unspoken:
a metastasis of memory in a land that names the stranger alien.

I am trying to reach mine, cannot find where it begins.
It arrived before language, encoded in the spiral of blood,

older than my name. Like starlight long gone, still arriving.
I squint into the most distant layer of stars: fine dust.

Some of it shines from bodies long dead,
their last emissions only now arriving

here. Their light arrives always without their names
like a jagged, cracked-open ledge,

this brief flesh against it,
struggling to sound.

*

This poem recently appeared in Sky Island Journal, Issue 35.

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

12 thoughts on “undocumented gravities”

  1. chrisnelson61 – Stourbridge, UK – Chris Nelson was born in East Anglia, but grew up in Birmingham when his family relocated when he was still a young child. After leaving school he studied computing at what was then Wolverhampton Polytechnic, before deciding that it was not a career path he wanted to follow. He retrained as a teacher and has taught in a primary school in Dudley since the mid 1980's. He has dabbled in writing short stories since his youth, but has began writing more seriously since the turn of the century. He lives in Stourbridge with his wife and two children.
    chrisnelson61 says:

    Wow. This is a stunning poem, Stacey. Physical and metaphysical weight baring down and intertwining as one.
    Fine writing.

    Reply
      1. chrisnelson61 – Stourbridge, UK – Chris Nelson was born in East Anglia, but grew up in Birmingham when his family relocated when he was still a young child. After leaving school he studied computing at what was then Wolverhampton Polytechnic, before deciding that it was not a career path he wanted to follow. He retrained as a teacher and has taught in a primary school in Dudley since the mid 1980's. He has dabbled in writing short stories since his youth, but has began writing more seriously since the turn of the century. He lives in Stourbridge with his wife and two children.
        chrisnelson61 says:

        My best to you too.

  3. Writing to Freedom – Fayetteville, Arkansas, USA – Peacemaker, writer, nature lover, and photographer. Learning to be more compassionate, loving, and accepting. I enjoy reading, simple living, travel, and time in nature. See you on the trails of life. Together we rise.
    Writing to Freedom says:

    Very poignant and evocative verse Stacey. Big feelings.

    Reply
  4. Bartholomew Barker – Hillsborough, North Carolina – Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
    Bartholomew Barker says:

    Congrats! That’s an excellent credit to add to the C. V.

    Reply
  5. Zettl Fine Arts – Carlbergergasse 107/1/140, 1230 Wien, Österreich – Artist, Sinologist, and practitioner of Zen aesthetics. My work explores the intersection of Daoist philosophy and contemporary art. I combine traditional Chinese ink techniques with Western concepts to capture the essence of the moment. Painting, for me, is a dialogue between silence and expression.
    Zettl Fine Arts says:

    What a great text, Stacey! Congratulations on publishing it. You touched on several points that also play a major role in my thinking—or rather, in my attempt to progress spiritually. “The hush between names in an unread ledger of losses”—what a profound phrase! And especially: “Here is a shape made of silence. A dark bloom: cells within cells, watched by a thousand quiet endings.” (That’s what I try to achieve in some of my paintings.) Now I need to take a closer look at your articles, which I’ve been carelessly neglecting. 🙂

    Reply

    1. I am grateful for this kindred connection, Friedrich. My major questions/interests/ obsessions feel a deeply resonant presence in your art and in the way that you think about your process. Thank you, friend!

      Reply
      1. Zettl Fine Arts – Carlbergergasse 107/1/140, 1230 Wien, Österreich – Artist, Sinologist, and practitioner of Zen aesthetics. My work explores the intersection of Daoist philosophy and contemporary art. I combine traditional Chinese ink techniques with Western concepts to capture the essence of the moment. Painting, for me, is a dialogue between silence and expression.
        Zettl Fine Arts says:

        I often think, and am grateful for, that it no longer matters which continent we live on, because the internet transcends borders. However, if we’re not careful, it will create new ones. I, too, was so happy to find you as a kindred spirit, even though we don’t know each other personally. But our thoughts meet somewhere, and that’s wonderful. All the best, dear friend.

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