A Brown University/Rhode Island School of Design Dual-Degree student (BRDD, 2017), artist, writer, urbanist, and explorer of the world dedicated to finding Wondrous things. Art, design, science, literature and the connections between them. For my original artwork see http://arianamakesart.tumblr.com/
Posts tagged poetry
States of Matter
Glass is a fluid disguised as a solid
As it sits pretty in window frames
And is molded into bottles and vases
And animal figurines
It is slowly settling. Over years and years
It is called by gravity’s sirens.
Downward silent teardrops moving at glacial pace.
We traded ice for water—
The same two elements
And hydrogen bonds
Warmer to the touch
But harder to grasp.
The sensation of water
Letting it slip through cupped hands.
nor is it culture
that limits us.
It is the vastness
we do not enter.
It is the stars
we do not let own us. Culture and the Universe, Simon J. Ortiz
people singing anthems try to cover with their hands.
A pure Indonesia under my pillow opens its markets
every night to music, caged birds bought to be released. Fragile Acts, Allan Peterson
the wind making rivulets on my sleeve same as window glass,
the same rocks shaped by the same reasons on Mars,
I am like a cricket singing to another sore voice. I hear it,
but faithful to symmetry, I don’t move closer.
It may not be singing to me. Movement may lead to dissolution.
Stars could make up new animals. The dragonfly
might chase the swallow as it did today in warning.
I am living at the edge of light looking out
over water that touches Mexico. The edge of the continent
holds hands with inlets and I mention them over and over
as if no one listened the last time. The common insists.
Lynx and orchids for some. Underwinter life below the ice.
From here I wave to you like polishing the air. “The Common Insists”, from Fragile Acts by Allan Peterson
Your mother’s house
Is bigger than it looks
From the outside.
In it, you’ve built cities
And drawn maps
With what you thought
Was your father’s fountain pen.
For years you lit candles
With them, flames
That I would one day
Find and follow.
I smelled faint smoke drifting
Heard the sound of ashes falling.
I walked into wildfires
And arrived, uninvited,
At campfire songs, not knowing,
But looking for you.
When I found you
You were reading from the book
Of the only stories I knew.
despite miles of snow quenched by touch, exchanges of oxygen
and temperature, despite a trillion trillion clattering glass hands
There were times we could hardly hear anything over the sound of day breaking
…how many times red and green lights changed places
how we moved and some of the loose stars moved Allan Peterson, Fragile Acts
We worshipped the beautiful among us
We had books of angels They were in them
We misspelled the marvelous from disbelief in spelling
We tried to make permanence out of shoddy materials
We unmade permanece by disavowing history
We said there were nine planets
We took one back for not being big enough
We rethought the decision
We felt partial to buffalo grass
We renamed places for things no longer there
We brought out the worst
We refused in spite of evidence
We spoke too soon. Allan Peterson, Fragile Acts
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars. Walt Whitman, lamenting a failure of scientific communication.