Modern Life is something
we grew up with.
It changed day by day as we did
It isn't the hand that knows
its difference from the glove.
The hand it seemed, felt altogether natural.
But when the hand held the glove,
empty and hanging limp,
it hardly seemed worth discussing
since you never slip
into the same glove twice.
But there are puzzles
in modern life.
Fissures in the explanations
we dealt with so cautiously;
the things the gods would not tell us.
All those people out there we never knew.
Now we know about them, we count them,
we question them, they answer,
and we write down their answers.
We find out how many people
are just like us and discover
we all bought the same kinds of cars,
the same kinds of houses,
---use credit cards.
We use to think we couldn't ask
and shouldn't answer.
Among those secrets that fissured
and split open the skies
were those bright stars, not single stars
but galaxies on far away maps. Now we know
about them, we count them, we question them
and write down their answers.
If they veer from the expected we look
for unseen galaxies or black holes.
If they are blue, we know they are new.
If yellow or red, a helium flash
and we become the atoms gathered
from the next dust cloud making stars.
When a cell divides,
smaller galaxies emerge.
Then such secrets become congenial;
play things on all-knowing computers.
We look for them The things we knew--
now strange and unanswered. We begin
to hold the mirror, looking over our shoulder
to see not the history that warns us off.
but the fissures that lead us on.
Our fears going down,
Our courage going up.
If you've a comment on her poem, L.Fullington
would be pleased to hear from you.