By Marcus Goodyear
(from Barbies at Communion,
Recognized as one of our picks for Best Poetry Book of 2010.)
for Amy Goodyear
Under French and Swiss, it loops
straddling resistance and neutrality
in tunnels that are many stories
tall. They’ll accelerate particles.
Who knows what that means—
except their white coats and access keys.
The Higgs particle could be in reach.
OK. Signatures of supersymmetry, too.
Right. I say, accelerate this family.
Send mom round the rings.
Counter-rotate dad and kids
all of them riding seven trillion
electron volt beams like some carnie
just set it up in a mall parking lot:
“6 tickets a ride, or get a wristband.”
Start the flight that ends with smash.
We’ll all super-collide to find immensity,
energy, strange answers to strangers’
questions. Asymmetry’s embedded here
in the universe—even families—even moms.
Somebody chose what stays and what goes.
Dark matter, gone. Life, the universe,
everything has 23 per cent dross, so mom
lick your finger, smudge the cheek of all
existence and say, Smile for the camera.