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September 17, 2019 Poetry

Letter Home from Hyperspace #2

Zoë Ryder White

Letter Home from Hyperspace #2 photo


There’s a song in my figurative head 
that I can’t shake loose. 
When I was a body, 
I did so many things with my hands, 
I can’t count. 
Around here it smells like lightning, 
like plasma. Wind blows ionized particles 
through my figurative hair. 
A ship passed the other day 
with a hundred souls aboard; 
they slept so peacefully, I dared not 
make a sound. When I was a body, 
I rang like a smacked bell. 
Here in hyperspace, I’m a thought 
thrown against a ceiling fan. 
This letter will be stuffed in a clay pot,
sucked through a vacuum tube, 
delivered to your door.
 

image: Dorothy Chan


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