First Light

First light through the curtains
I find myself simultaneously
four billion years old
and newly made as bread dough.
Pillowcase wrinkles
on my face are spacetime,
my bed aloft on cosmic riptides.
From here I can see every particle
entangled with every other particle.
From here, reality is infinity
expressed in intricate calculations.

I arise wearing my newest disguise,
a 57-year-old wobbly-necked woman
entranced by trees, books, clouds
though I am still
light leaving the first stars
still growing fingers, lips, eyes,
still inventing language,
still trying to evolve.

(Originally published in Twyckenham Notes)

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Laura Grace Weldon is the author of three books, most recently the poetry collection Blackbird (Grayson Books, 2019), the strength of which led her to being named 2019 Ohio Poet of the Year. Laura works as a book editor, teaches writing workshops, and maxes out her library card each week.

[image: Starlight through a prism Illustration | G.F. Morrell 1922]