inertia in three studies



Nothing is holding the table down. Our chairs adrift, what’s a circle but a shape once seen? There are other ways of seeing: this string, this scalpel’s wake, somebody drawing the ocean, a whole star system expanding.



The wind pushed one out while another, arms extended, only wanted to return. Holding on was not the answer, the heat times distance squared, the gravitational need.



We all kept moving because that is what bodies do until they collide with something. The view was the same: the bracelet of the galaxy draped on the sky, the great eye of space always open.





Amy Miller

rough house

prose poetry for the people