I sit at the kitchen table
and
pour ice cubes into a large bowl
rimmed
with gray and blue shapes
that
might just be billowy clouds
when
I squint my watery blue eyes.
I
am Triton watching the ice melt
into
an epic sea that is for now
quite
calm except for the cracking
of
cubes as they create a world,
one
where amoebas and bankers,
grocery
store clerks and housewives,
sailors
one and all in a universe
inside
of another and another,
carry
on their trades.
I
will not stir the ocean into foam
with
my trident, the fork
that
I used last night for brussels sprouts.
I
am a benign god
who
sees birds fly past my window
and
hears the postman on the porch.
Should
not these microbes with history
be
allowed to do the same?
My
only concern is that one day
this
diorama will evaporate
like
all nested universes,
bowing
to entropy and Poseidon’s whim.
And,
oh my goodness,
what
will we do then?
~William Hammett
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