Fission (Or, the Day I Discovered My Wife - June, 1988)
Radioactive fission, where the center of a heavy element spontaneously emits a charged particle as it breaks down into a smaller nucleus, does not occur often, and happens only with the heavier elements. Fission is different from the process of fusion, when two nuclei join together rather than split apart. - Live Science.
Was it fission or fusion?
Whatever it was, I felt its
spontaneity. Charged particles
blew into the vestibule where
we had been standing. The hairs
on my arms rose up as if
an electrical storm was
brewing right over the
carpeted halls and pastel
prints decorating the walls.
We had been working late
on legal documents, studying
citations as if they were Talmudic
texts, trying to hone the nucleus
of our arguments. Suddenly,
I was speechless, as if all the air
had vanished from the room so sound
would not carry. Looking back,
I am not sure what words could
have traversed those light years
that had traveled between us
in that fiery moment of
raw energy, reactions feeding
fires, letting loose, spilling out,
re-emerging larger than before.
All I can recall now is that
life as I had known it was over.
My new self was about to expand,
burst forth like a nuclear firestorm.
Ice Skating on the Moon (On the Day After...)
I dreamt we went
ice skating on
the darkest side
of the moon where
no one could find
us where water-
filled comets fell
and no one heard
a sound we were
hidden so deep
in penumbras
deep space probes
missed our sparkle
the magic arc
of our brazen
triple axels
dark poles hid us
solar windstorms
dropped frost crystals
we leapt to catch
them before they
could show up on
radio waves we were
determined to
stay submerged
to swirl to leap
to places where
no could find us
where we would be
audacious
free of judgments
pure as crystals
The Umbra Around Us
These days, the eclipse is on
our minds. I don’t mean the one
involving the sun.
I’m worried about kindness dimming
down, eroding faster
than wind-swept sand dunes.
The other day, my wife and I
were driving home, a rainbow
sticker peeking out from our bumper,
when two young white men
began shrieking invectives, fingers.
piercing the air like pitchforks.
Rage shrouded their eyes.
Tattoos covered their arms,
skulls and swastikas swarmed.
Maybe they were heading down
to Charlottesville. Maybe diminishment
has always defined them.
Now, though, they have swollen up,
intent on blotting out everything
that is not them. Suddenly, shadows
hover everywhere. Penumbras
and umbras arrive unannounced
as we are sitting peaceably
on our front stoops
or holding signs of protest.
Still, the world darkens,
while we stare heavenward
trying to ignore shadows,
hoping blindness will not follow.
About Mary K O'Melveny
Mary K O'Melveny is a recently retired labor rights lawyer living in Washington DC and Woodstock NY. Her poetry has been published in various print, on-line journals, and blog sites such as Writing in a Woman's Voice and The New Verse News. Mary's poetry chapbook, A Woman of a Certain Age, was published by Finishing Line Press in September, 2018.