Poet Wrestling with Surface Tension

When the wells dry up, my mother is taken

to search for extraterrestrials in the desert.

The location, like her real age,

is undisclosed. No fake Prada

stores, no high-

altitude balloon

conspiracies & no reception. The call, in a sense,

ends the moment I try to claim the apple

never fell, never fell at all, from either tree. Aba asserts:

breathe & then warns me she doesn’t like the word alien.

I know this well enough, how my mother knows

well enough, that deserts are not prophecy. Or

a graveyard song for an animal

sanctuary, somewhere far-off,

founded on second-guessing.

Like it ever mattered which

side of a fence or war-

head to the last rhino

left, when he’s blessed with two armed

guards to protect him from everything

but thirst. Over static, I hiss it’s too late to save

face. What they must think of you, when your best

technosignatures are smog, sulfur dioxide, stampedes

in open-air stadiums. Is this how you’re found

amid the darkness? Is it enough?

Would you not exist if you lived

unseen? While my mother rises & falls into sky,

I repeat how humans have changed the destiny

of this planet. Aba cries out: breathe.

He mistakes this for atonement

& fires back:

how wrong

the foundations here, like those

in supersymmetry, are stacked.

How you built your wells & havens

so inaccurately that your ultimate

capability is never being proven

wrong. I won’t ask for forgiveness

when Aba searches for his place,

again, among you. Was it enough

to believe the apple

would never rot from a lack

of  rigor. When did you stop asking

for the math? & when the rhino turns

into a golden calf,

what will tarnish

& unearth your base

metals? What will you

do when your alloys

sour & gasp?

I hold my breath. I trap

his wrath. The heart continues

to track. Aba falls silent when I switch

off every tap & highway, render complete

darkness. The last of you continue

to gaze up, for no reason

you will recall. You shiver & open

mouths wide, for what was precious

& pure.         & I

no longer pretend

that I ever breathed

any part of it,

this future you pooled

together, the way a single drop

of water relies on surface

tension. I won’t ask forgiveness

when giving away exact coordinates

& next destinations. Don’t be afraid.

On the surface, we aren’t unlike one

& the same. It’s just you are the reason

you’re already gone.

& I’m here to stay.