Defining the Third Element & Philoselene

 

 

This poem orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 20. Support local book­sellers and inde­pen­dent pub­lish­ers by order­ing a print copy of the mag­a­zine.

 

By M.E. Silverman

Defin­ing the Third Element

 

Lith i um [‘liTHēəm] n.

1. Chem­istry: soft metal that burns moon-white, light­est of the alkali, travels by river, swims in healing springs; reacts with our own carbon dioxide in Oxygen Masks, bends into plane, train, bike, and battery; comes from Greek meaning stone, gift, soother—symbol: Li, dis­cov­ered in 1817 by a Swedish scientist—atomic weight: 6.939, tends to haunt Australia’s stretch, in Chile’s leg, and Bolivia’s heart.

2. Phar­ma­col­o­gy: treats the inner howl, becomes hon­ey­comb without the buzz, a space-walk without star-fire; inter­acts with neu­ro­trans­mit­ters and elec­tric recep­tors inside our inner gray swaying cage; can cause chills, desert mouth, and eyeball fog.

3. Min­er­al­o­gy: occu­pies bleak lands like a holy hermit who sees ghosts and talks to demons; these cracked salt flats can be seen from space, like twin­kling trea­sure from an emerged sea; John Glenn saw settled patches like week-old snow, quiet plains of brine, a white-gold quilt stitched to the Earth, a wide and apoc­a­lyp­tic place where even gods refuse to go.

 

 

 

Philose­lene

 

Each cloud a step I climb—
lum­ber­ing astro­naut bounces.

Each sliver of light a beam I trapeze—
swings me farther forward

toward you,
my night­glow. Below

each dark sea a reflect­ing pearl I cir­cum­vent—
oh, those poor, pale imitations!

Each falling star a leap I take—
from the thinnest moun­tain tip

a quarter million mile obsta­cle course that moves me away,
away from this mad marble.

**

You—my bright compass:
I am lost
in your white currant pool.

You—my high hanging silver fruit:
I am space-flower
in your night garden.

You—my O‑ring,
look down,
see the mystery:

on January 28, 1986,
for you, I—
Earth-bound in gravity’s well,

a tin tomb of bone and heart—
become man
made of star­dust flakes.

 

M. E. SILVERMAN has pub­lished two books of poems and co-edited Bloomsbury’s Anthol­o­gy of Con­tem­po­rary Jewish Amer­i­can Poetry, New Voices: Con­tem­po­rary Writers Con­fronting the Holo­caust, and 101 Jewish Poems for the Third Mil­len­ni­um. @4ME2Silver

 

These poems orig­i­nal­ly appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 20. 

 

Photo by Sifan Liu

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The Stonecoast Review is the lit­er­ary journal of the Stonecoast MFA at the Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Maine.