Please, Space – Suzanne Wise

I come to you on my knees. I bow down to your basement. I bow down to all your subterranean chambers, your serpents of glass and iron, your  mythical horizons. You look blank. A retouched milky froth. Perhaps you are sleeping, your lungs filled with ether, your implacable dreaming of fifty-five concentric crystalline spheres. In one blink, your billions of tiny searchlights click on.My childhood lodged in my throat, I do not make a sound. Your many eyes stockpile images of conveyer ramps and grids and small masses gathered in protest. I resist the gravity of my situation. I crawl in a vertical position, carrying broken shoes, and no one looks my way. My so-called neighbors are sealed in amber on the other side of the glass protecting my eyes from your terrible light. Is that you rumbling under my feet? Are you clearing your throat? Are you about to answer? The white stars look down expectantly. What do they know of you? They belong to your breath condensing in the cold. They know your expertise at hiding in the open. They watch over me, I decide. They protect me from you and your expansion past everyone and every thing.

Suzanne Wise is the author of the poetry collection The Kingdom of the Subjunctive (Alice James Books). Her poetry can also be found in in the anthologies Lit from Inside (Alice James Books), From the Fishouse (Norton), and Legitimate Dangers: American Poets of the New Century (Sarabande Books), as well as recent issues of the journals American Letters and Commentary, Bomb, Bone Bouquet, Catch Up, Green Mountains Review, Guernica, and Ploughshares. She currently works at Poets House, a poetry library and literary center in Manhattan.

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