An alternative geometry of the universe

Maggie Wang

In June, Ba buys cherries, and we run our fingers along the skins,
which gleam like piano keys or the moon after fog.

We eat the cherries on the back porch,
watching the maples turn the last of the sunlight over their leaves.

Above, the clouds are gathering again,
and the birds are tracing fractals along their edges.

After midnight, the wind will tessellate them across the mountains;
on the other side, they will yawn rain into the sea.

Feeling the rain, the salmon will swim upstream to spawn
as the water ices over above them.

The bears will be waiting in welcome by the bank,
past the rapids, where the current seems to still.

A few bees will have followed the bears to the water,
beating the cold in spirals from the air.

On the way, they will have passed an orchard beginning to bloom
and dipped their tongues between the petals as they flew.

In their wake, the sky will have swarmed heavy with pollen
and the scent of sugar thickening into cherries.