Singularity
after Marie Howe
in the wordless beginning
iguana & myrrh
magma & reef ghost moth
& the cordyceps tickling its nerves
& cedar & archipelago & anemone
dodo bird & cardinal waiting for its red
ocean salt & crude oil now black
muck now most naïve fumbling plankton
every egg clutched in the copycat soft
of me unwomaned unraced
unsexed as the ecstatic prokaryote
that would rage my uncle’s blood
or the bacterium that will widow
your eldest daughter’s eldest son
my uncle, her son our mammoth sun
& her uncountable siblings & dust mite & peat
apatosaurus & nile river
& maple green & nude & chill-blushed &
yeasty keratined bug-gutted i & you
spleen & femur seven-year refreshed
seven-year shedding & taking & being this dust
& my children & your children
& their children & the children
of the black bears & gladiolus & pink florida grapefruit
here not allied but the same perpetual breath
held fast to each other as each other’s own skin
cold-dormant & rotting & birthing & being born
in the olympus of the smallest
possible once before once
Copyright © 2020 by Marissa Davis. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 1, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.
“‘Singularity’ was inspired by the poem of the same name by Marie Howe, itself inspired by the theory of singularity, which posits that before the Big Bang, all matter existed within one small, incredibly dense ball of energy. Conceptually, it was amazing to me—that every piece of matter that would become not only you and I, but each of our ancestors and each of our descendants; and every creature long extinct and every one not yet existing; every wondrous and every awful and every hideous and every radiant thing—that the components of its being would have existed first, alongside every other, in this speck of dust. Here, the scientific meets the spiritual; becomes it, even—we’re given the chance to frame any living thing (any existing thing, really) as our brethren, that with which we once laid together in an ancient, cosmic womb.”
—Marissa Davis