Poetry: A New Constellation

Ganked with­out shame from slow_poke_poly

A New Constellation
–Marge Piercy

We go inter­twined, him and you
and me, her and him, you and her,
each the cen­ter of our own circle
of attrac­tion and com­pul­sion and gravity.
What a con­stel­la­tion we make: I call it
the Matrix. I call it the dancing
fam­i­ly. I call it wheels inside wheels.
Ezekiel did not know he was seeing
the pat­tern for endur­ing relationship
in the late twen­ti­eth century.

All the rings shine gold as wed­ding bands
but they are the hoops magi­cians use
that seem sol­id and unbro­ken, yet can slip
into chains of oth­er rings and out.
They are strong enough to hang hous­es on,
strong enough to serve as cranes, yet
they are open. We fall through each other,
we catch each oth­er, we cling, we flip on.

No one is at the cen­ter, but each
is her own cen­ter, no one controls
the jan­gling swing and bounce and merry-
go-round lurch­ing inter­tan­gle of this mobile.
We pass through each oth­er trembling
and we pass through each oth­er shrieking
and we pass through each oth­er shimmering.
The cir­cle is nei­ther unbroken
nor bro­ken but liv­ing, a mol­e­cule attracting
atoms that want to be a protein,
com­plex, mor­tal, able to sus­tain life,
able to repro­duce itself inexactly,
learn and grow.