A Phosphorescence
I discovered phosphorescence one day
clearing pine needles from an acre plot
in the mountains. I raked and scratched
large piles, then became obsessed with the base
of one tree, raking harder and deeper until black,
matted clumps of needles came up to reveal a glow.
Fire, I thought, afraid for the forest. But no smoke,
no burn smells. There could be light without fire,
like that moment of warmth I mistook for fire,
a gentle touch on your arm that was light
and would be no more than that.
Copyright © 2024 by James Cervantes. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on November 11, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.
“‘A poem thirty-five years in the making,’ a blurb might read. In truth, my witnessing of ‘A Phosphorescence’ occurred thirty-five years ago, much as described in the poem’s first eight lines. Year after year, I would write out the experience but would then get stuck. Last year, I revisited the definition I found online: ‘light emitted by a substance without combustion or perceptible heat;’ [but this time I read its application] in physics: ‘the emission of radiation in a similar manner to fluorescence but on a longer timescale.’ So that emission continues after excitation ceases. Finally, I had the poem!”
—James Cervantes
James Cervantes
James Cervantes is the author of several poetry collections, including From Mr. Bondo’s Unshared Life (Hamilton Stone Editions, 2013) and Temporary Meaning (Hamilton Stone Editions, 2006), which was nominated for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for Poetry. He lives in Tucson.