Greta Moran


someday, when I am ready, I hope to be born into a ring of dead stars,
circling the universe, unseen.

physicists may detect an unequalizing force in the atmosphere
that they cannot trace to known matter.

no one will expect me to explain myself;
humans are the only creatures who spend half their lives
explaining their lives
to each other.

neighboring trees get to know each other by detecting
where the other tree has taken up nutrients and sunlight,
& maneuvering its roots and branches accordingly.

humans learn of each other by asking who they are,
where they came from.

we should talk less and feel each other more.

when it comes down to it, all we do all day is split

and fuse together parts of ourselves,
and anything else you've been taught about human behavior
is a myth.

try this: get to know someone as a tree might.

stand next to a stranger with such stillness until you can feel
     the way the weight of their body exerts a pull
     on your body.

this moment will leave a greying notch on your spine

that will continue to braid up your back
as the world passes through you again and again

they say if it is possible for a particle to decay into a lighter particle it will do so.

then I want to live as higgs
blissfully decaying into bosons, decaying
into quarks, decaying into a unknown lighter particle,
no longer reachable, but there,
on my untestable and unquantifiable field.

Greta Moran is a freelance editor and writer living in Portland, Maine. She writes poems, fiction, journalism articles, and most recently textbook copyright pages.

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