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There are facts. I cannot recite them
all. They stem emotion, finger
physical reaction, voluntary or otherwise.
We are made of facts the way the moon is
composed of dust, compressing our core
into hardened hell. Or falling
like snow, highlighting our skin
and mirrors. There are facts,
quantum and magic. They pop
in and out of existence, occupying
many realms simultaneously.
Once they exist they are forever
connected to the fact of having
existed, to the act of affecting something.
There are facts involving cats inside
sealed boxes. Nonexistence
of the unobserved. There are facts
I cannot recite.

 


Jacqueline Markowski lives in North Carolina where she homeschools her increasingly independent children, attends college and writes poetry and short stories. Her work has appeared in numerous publications including Kentucky Review, Permafrost, Storm Cycle, Rainbow Journal and Blast Furnace and is forthcoming in Bird’s Thumb and San Pedro River Review. A Pushcart prize nominee, she won first place at The Sandhills Writer’s Conference. She is currently working on a collection of poetry.

© 2014, Jacqueline Markowski

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