Schrödinger Reincarnated

The dumpster child grows up, becomes
obsessed with all receptacles, all
places she might be put to die
or not. She searches the refuse
of lives, the casually gone, the bitterly
regretted: broken lenses, a wedding
album, stringless guitars. She finds a kitten, blind
and black in its imposed night. She takes
it home, feeds it drops of milk, then pieces
of meat, nurses it to maturity: a green
eyed panther who lounges on her couch
as though studying an unknown
universe. She loves the wild, the tame—
she stands under midnight trees, watches
it hunt thieves through the park—perfect
indeterminacy. They call numbers
at random, speak to each other through
static. I have always loved you, never
blamed you. Walk these empty streets
with me; I am the molecule begging
prediction. Let's spin like the moon's
nucleus. Reason without reason: her child
cries and might be heard.

Copyright © 2008 Dana Curtis All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission