collision theory
BY MARTY MCCONNELL
I swear she kissed me first, but I have
no evidence. I know the wine danced
in the glass like a siren, all lean in and slow blink,
I know the magnets in my palms spun until keys
flung themselves toward us from all
directions. conjurers always have to be watching
our hands. spells dove from simple gesture, simple
wishing, glancing touch. I know that I make things
happen. I’m less good at making them stop. the want
always wants more. that the wine danced
is just evidence of magic messing
with the everyday. this happens
most often after dark. after the sun’s been forgotten
long enough for the moon to seem like honest
light. for the cab to seem like a vocabulary lesson
and the long ride to a small room, a test
of how much our tongues can lift before the temperature
shifts. to dove is to rise like a creature
with perfect bones. to drift a hand across a forearm
at a bar is not magic or a promise, but evidence
of how want flints against itself to become visible.
when asked to explain how magnets work
in layman’s terms, the scientist said
I really can't do a good job, any job
of explaining magnetic force in terms
of something else that you’re more familiar with
because I don’t understand it in terms
of anything else that you’re more familiar with.
why does the word palm dissolve in the mouth?
how to explain what stays on the body
for days, the kissed arm a stain of mouths,
the belly a well of hands, hands, want
and want and unstopping want. to watch
our hands is not to stop them from conjuring
but to know where they’re headed. to know
what they’ve sheltered, all they’ve let go. to dove
is to build something for as long as it’s needed,
then release. this does not stop the wanting.
does not unravel the spell or make the magnet
any less magic. it does make for a more beautiful
morning, though. the sun so much promise,
so lit, it almost hurts to look at it.
(quote from Discover Magazine, July/August 2011)
I swear she kissed me first, but I have
no evidence. I know the wine danced
in the glass like a siren, all lean in and slow blink,
I know the magnets in my palms spun until keys
flung themselves toward us from all
directions. conjurers always have to be watching
our hands. spells dove from simple gesture, simple
wishing, glancing touch. I know that I make things
happen. I’m less good at making them stop. the want
always wants more. that the wine danced
is just evidence of magic messing
with the everyday. this happens
most often after dark. after the sun’s been forgotten
long enough for the moon to seem like honest
light. for the cab to seem like a vocabulary lesson
and the long ride to a small room, a test
of how much our tongues can lift before the temperature
shifts. to dove is to rise like a creature
with perfect bones. to drift a hand across a forearm
at a bar is not magic or a promise, but evidence
of how want flints against itself to become visible.
when asked to explain how magnets work
in layman’s terms, the scientist said
I really can't do a good job, any job
of explaining magnetic force in terms
of something else that you’re more familiar with
because I don’t understand it in terms
of anything else that you’re more familiar with.
why does the word palm dissolve in the mouth?
how to explain what stays on the body
for days, the kissed arm a stain of mouths,
the belly a well of hands, hands, want
and want and unstopping want. to watch
our hands is not to stop them from conjuring
but to know where they’re headed. to know
what they’ve sheltered, all they’ve let go. to dove
is to build something for as long as it’s needed,
then release. this does not stop the wanting.
does not unravel the spell or make the magnet
any less magic. it does make for a more beautiful
morning, though. the sun so much promise,
so lit, it almost hurts to look at it.
(quote from Discover Magazine, July/August 2011)
Marty McConnell’s work has been published in numerous anthologies and journals including A Face to Meet the Faces: An Anthology of Contemporary Persona Poetry, City of the Big Shoulders: An Anthology of Chicago Poetry, Indiana Review, Crab Orchard, Salt Hill Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Drunken Boat, Muzzle Magazine, Rattle, Rattapallax, Booth Magazine, Fourteen Hills, Thirteenth Moon, Boxcar Poetry Review, Pedestal, 2River View, and Qarrtsiluni. She received her MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and has been a featured reader at numerous literary festivals including the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival, Connecticut Poetry Festival, and the Palm Beach Poetry Festival. After ten years in New York City, during which she co-founded literary nonprofit the louderARTS Project and co-curated its renowned weekly reading series, she returned to Chicago in 2009 to establish its sister organization, Vox Ferus, through which she runs a bi-monthly poetry workshop series.