Space Struck

by Paige Lewis

And if, for some reason, you don’t belong in this space with me, getting fingerprints all over my glossy animals, then we’ll journey until we find the world in which we both fit.

And when the path grows too dark to see even the bright parts of me, have faith in the sound of my voice. I’m here. I’m still the one leading.

And I’m sure there’s an alternate universe where my gaze is unwavering,

All constellations are organisms and all organisms are divine and unfixed.

Tell me, how do I steady my gaze when everything I want is motion?

I learn the universe is an arrow without end and it asks only one question: How dare you?

learned that a miracle is anything that God forgot to forbid.

Lately, I’ve been feeling betrayed by names: the king cobra isn’t a cobra, the electric eel isn’t an eel, and it turns out my anger was fear all along.

ON DISTANCE It’s nothing. The sun, with its plasma plumes and arching heat, is five million miles closer to Earth than it was in July, and we are still alive.

Before God leaves, He clears the table, pats my head, and presses two messages into my palms. In my left, You are the bridge. In my right, You are the dust.

Do they still count if I’m saving all of my shiniest thoughts for you?

Now, I demand a love that is stupid and beautiful, like a pilot turning off her engines midflight to listen for rain on wings.

The final line of “God Stops By” comes from Rabbi Simcha Bunim Bonhart of Przysucha. One of his famous teachings is about how everyone should carry two notes with them. One note should read, “For my sake was the world created,” while the other note should read, “I am but dust and ashes.”