Sally Ashton
Poems from Listening to Mars
Quantum Theory
Lost against a backdrop of stars, lost all daily notion of now, zero
gravity, time's experience warped by my spectator approach, do
you feel it, the continuum, how relativity accepted must link to
quantum theory, the theory behind the smallest actions in the
universe impossible to comprehend but possible to imagine through
thought experiments otherwise known as poems. Otherwise not
languageable though scientists say it explains practically everything.
I hope it speaks to someone. And if there are no further questions,
will it suffice to find words that make the world look like what it
feels like? I can't tell over Zoom, one man listening from a garage,
others don't turn on their videos. Someone else arrives too late to
care. But I have a wristwatch now. It follows the moon.
Space Walk
Outside the spacecraft tethered by barely a thread, the astronaut
swims in a sea of nothing far from any knowns, swaddled like an
infant must be, flung out for science, for discovery, for repairs. A
frontier, always what's next part of a grand adventure, home a
frangible concept ever-rippling outward with her, unmoored in
concentric circles. She's given herself to them, to the challenge,
sometimes horror to see so much so clearly where she floats in low
earth orbit traveling 28,000 kilometers per hour. An eerie stillness
circling Earth every ninety minutes, enormous planet suspended in spacetime
as she is suspended waiting to climb back aboard. Her
life, hurtling through that vacuum, not flat as the world was once
believed to be, even her DNA changing.
O celestial body, one of us, we peer beyond the edges of the cracked-
ceiling world acquainted with the dark, speeding toward uncertainty,
slipping the margins of time.
Quantum Leap
Startled bluebird swoop
from feeder to post what
wingbeats blueredblur how
describe that instant
between here and not
the jump itself minor
in time and space a shock
in existence not presence
nor absence an interlude
of being probable like between
systole and diastole call it
beating one nanosecond
begun at some point will
stop hand on my breast
not mechanical synapse
like thought the not
known before I write
the next word the birdfeeder
waits at the heart of the
Universe possibility hovers
Sally Ashton is a writer, teacher, and editor of DMQ Review, an online journal featuring poetry and art. Author of four books, her fifth collection, Listening to Mars, is forthcoming in 2024, from Cornerstone Press. Her work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies and is headed to the Moon in 2024 with the Lunar Codex project. She lives in Los Gatos, California. For more, see www.sallyashton.com.