A Dissertation on Quantum Entanglement as a Love Song
Cheryl Dumesnil
I whispered your name in a napkin,
crumpled it into my palm and opened
an empty hand. I poured our story
in a coffee mug and buried it
in the weeds behind the park bench.
A love so secret I refused to tell it
even to myself. I dreamed we kissed
in the cafeteria line while the steward
looked away. I sang you loudly
in an empty car, mountain storm
slicking the roads. Stay home,
the ocean, who never lies, told me,
so I did. Runner, I imagined my words
becoming the pulse in your ears.
I dreamed your shoes beneath my bed.
Your wet paint tenderness.
Your shimmer like water held
at the brink of over-spilling the cup.
The sun, who is always right, aimed
her compass point at my chest
and said, Wait, you'll be amazed.
Years gone, your scent woven
in the cables of a thrift shop
cardigan. I wished you well under
the changing colors of a sourwood tree—
your words arrived not like a dam
burst, more like a rhythm
I'd never noticed, pulsing in my throat.