First Light
First light through the curtains
I find myself simultaneously
four billion years old
and newly made as bread dough.
Pillowcase wrinkles
on my face are spacetime,
my bed aloft on cosmic riptides.
From here I can see every particle
entangled with every other particle.
From here, reality is infinity
expressed in intricate calculations.
I arise wearing my newest disguise,
a 57-year-old woman with a wobbly neck
who is entranced by trees, books, clouds
though I am still
light leaving the first stars
still growing fingers, lips, eyes,
still inventing language,
still trying to evolve.
LAURA WELDON is the author of poetry collections Blackbird (Grayson Books, 2019) and Tending (Aldrich Press, 2013). She is Ohio Poet of the Year for 2019. Her background includes teaching nonviolence workshops, writing collaborative poetry with nursing home residents, and facilitating support groups for abuse survivors. She works as a book editor and teaches writing classes. Connect with her at lauragraceweldon.com.
Twyckenham Notes 