[43] The Spin Procession of an Electron, Ben Chase

I.
Past the balcony, the waves reinvent themselves in an endless interference pattern—
Peaks and valleys—
Atoms splitting apart only to collide again and fall back into unison,
Cancelling each other out.

II.
Five minutes before you’re born
They move me to a hallway, where
Velocity is obvious, but
Location still is indeterminate:
He is—you are—she is—
Elsewhere.

I am held in a superposition between all things.
The nurses discuss an email they didn’t like,
Patients wander by complaining to no one,
and unseen defenses pump me full of fog
To guard against terrible outcomes.

III.
Come sit now.
Where?
By her head—
There’s a curtain—
The other side.

Am I going to die?
No.
Promise?

Look In my eyes—
only here.
What happens next?
I’m not sure, but
when the pressure comes

squeeze my hand
and only look
right here.

IV.
When the wave function collapses
you appear. Observed.
Your war cry ripples out—
Like a Choctow Indigenous colt
Escaped from Mother’s gore
with hide
Festooned in ancestors’ hand prints.

V.
I go to you
past the painter’s bucket three quarters filled with your mother’s blood,
ignoring the man who says her uterus is hotter than a furnace,
and hold your hand—
The same way we do today—

one finger gripped inside your palm.

You’re okay now, I whisper.
Even though I have no idea if that is true.