Poetry Feature!

Since poetry is my primary literary form, I decided to dedicate this post to my absolute favorite poet, who happens to live in my hometown. I discovered this poet quite by chance– he came to my middle school when I was in 6th grade to perform some of his pieces for my english class, but of course, that happened to be one of probably three days in my entire middle school career that I was in the principal’s office instead of in class. Little did I know that the group of five that meandered into the office asking for directions to Mrs. Prieskorn’s class (which I actually gave them directions to) contained the most brilliant writer I have ever had the pleasure of reading. Thankfully he left his one poetry publication behind, a thin little grey book entitled “The Ill Lad and the Odd MC”, which my teacher kindly gifted to me since she knew I liked poetry.

That little grey book became my prized possession and my haven. I kept it under my bed from 6th grade all the way until I graduated high school, and I brought it to college with me. I’ve been writing poetry since third grade and have read a plethora of poetry, yet this little book still contains my favorite poem of all time, which I am going to feature for everyone’s reading pleasure.

Here we go, everyone– feast your eyes on the beautiful words of Michael Moriarty, homegrown Ann Arbor poet.

snapshot physics and the end of the universe

when a warm wind brushes a girl holding a dandelion

and ruffles her dress

and rafts tufts of seedlings into a sky

the moment aches and immediately

freezes into a snapshot behind

what might be god’s eyes

the universe breaks a heavy sigh

and the silent furnaces

where atoms grow up

turn like dust


there are many things that exist

rather than nothing

she sweeps into them

on days like this


and today they say the end of the universe will be cold

it will shiver slowly from the inside out

no spectral blue shift                     no stars crashing to kingdom

come                           no big crunch

we never get to collapse into

one                           I don’t want to let go of this

they say space is speeding up and leaving us


and she begins to hum


at the end

the center of endlessness

will burst like a rampaged heart               and each night

less and less stars in the sky


we will be less than bones

gravity will be an echo

and the earth will splinter away

in a gown of frost


but today there is a girl

and a sun                in waves               a wind that sways

and what will become of her hands

scraped raw on the day

her shoelace got caught in her bike chain

watching her mother put on make-up

the cold scissor tinged neck                      her first haircut

her red journal with gold latch

her mouthful of things to say

the first raindrop on her wrist

from the storm that once made her afraid

watching her friend Lily shrink from view

with her cheek on the car window

her aspiration to eventually

get really good at bowling

and how she always ran in the dark

when no one was around


where then go her stories and the air that carried them?

how might these have slipped to emptiness?


if she sings and no one’s around

does it still ache in my marrow?


I can’t let go of this

when some day infinite

when a girl’s dress is ruffled by the wind

and there is drifting

and god might be filing the moment away for safe-keeping

and the stars are patting each other on the back

and smoking cigars

everything might be in its right place

and that is lightning striking repeatedly

beneath my teeth

and I walk on water

but it’s inside my body

and I am going home

and she is there holding hands with my mother

and one day it will all crumble

and be smoke or ash or ice or nothing

and these words will be the dead skin cells

of the moon


I only hope that on that day I will be allowed

to reach behind what might be god’s eyes

hold that snapshot in my hands and say

yes          there was beauty

I was there             it blazed through me

even now in dark glass gelatin and the clock melt of memory

impressed somewhere                  a photograph of everything

I can’t stop from disappearing

but I might hold that thin film of chemical and see

a daydream of my mother and the girl

maybe a garden                   maybe a breeze

and she might hold an inchworm on her fingertip

and she might climb a tree

and she might shake the branches

watch the clouds sleep            wake the leaves

and I will dream

and I will dream

of all

that might be



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