Radio Transmission from Parallel Universe
Some clearings have a cabin
with a ladder to the sleeping loft
and behind the cabin, a meadow ringed by firs
and a tree swing with rope so long
a good push puts you up and out above the trees,
your bare feet stamped upon the sky.
Some roads lead to the ocean’s shore.
Some beaches stay deserted.
See the inland tidepool like a galaxy?
Spiky urchins are living morning stars or flails,
and fresh, alive starfish undulate their muscled limbs
near tiny sucking clams that burrow
in the liquid sand if chased.
Understand: we also like to be alone on beaches
and feel our hair whip our cheeks to sting
and look out at the ocean to imagine what we cannot see—
ships beyond the line between the sea and sky,
(or “horizon” as you say)
and everything beneath the surface
like wrecks and sharks and floating bodies,
treasures sunken, shells and moving plants …
But when we’re alone on beaches,
we also think of you as we simultaneously do math.
Even here some men live in dirt-floor shacks,
their barns much nicer than their houses,
and after school they’ll let you ride their horses
and show you how to crack the whips.
Fly, kids, across their fields and back,
on galloping white Valentine,
and clutch her dingy mane to keep from falling off!
Some quilts are scented lilac.
Some windows have wavy glass.
Some rooms are well proportioned,
lately quiet and half in sun (a different sun than yours).
Some houses have spiral staircases
and hidden drawers in stairs,
and a rope swing over a ravine
deep enough to die in.
We are really here, as this transmission proves.
Our universe remarkably alike (pahozha na tovaya bcelennaya),
really parallel to yours:
Our landscape also gives us comfort,
and childhood memories shine like jewels
suspended in the air—
memories are dew drops on a spider’s web,
and we have spiders too.
This is Emily Writes Back, a newsletter by Emily Sanders Hopkins.