Fluid Dynamics

By Karen Pittelman

If I would mass

instead of ache,

assemble not erode,


If this granular body, its

weak granular needs

could heat to hard crack,

from the sugar

mold a rough little skull,


If I gave what

I was meant to keep,

hoarded what I

never should have had,


If I made my garden

too close to the factory,

hauled a dark plant from the earth

that we could never eat,

its tap root still trembling

with dirt, sun glint in

its poison and silica,


If there is a point when a crowd

finds its own physics,

its own eddies and

unbearable tides,


If we have not clearly marked

the means of egress,


If we have become fluid,


If we have forgotten

even the fact

of the door.

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