Poem 16, Raphael Matto

Yes, there is dark matter here on Earth.

There’s dark matter in my basketball
(we fill our tires with it). There is a little
in number 2 pencils, pupils,
and under the doormat (that’s why
I can’t hear you from the garden).

The librarian is mostly dark matter –
she tends the large patch
hanging over the gas station
(sometimes birds fly into it).

There’s dark matter in the pills
cardiologists prescribe,
in my cousin’s yellow lunchbox,
(her mouse-hole),
the sink in the girls bathroom,
and our dusty math books.

Simon’s dad stamps it off his boots.

There’s dark matter in the reflection
of my co-worker’s wedding ring,

which has us both
taking careful steps backward.

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