my engineer friends are discussing gravity lately. it begins with roasting the most disgruntled of us while he’s thirty feet off the ground on a climbing wall, struggling to keep his hands on the chips of holds. riffing off the complaints that it’s a high gravity day they assure him that gravity is not a force, but frame drag, wave function this, photons that, and finally, one turns to me, the friend who designs the nfl stadiums you watch on tv, and whispers, “gravity is the most amazing thing, isn’t it, whether you question it or not.”
trust, i don’t question it, but i do revel. in a fevered covid stupor this january i had dropped objects one by one onto my bed and silently screamed into my palm every time it fell down and through. how so reliable, thank you. incredible.
my friend nudges my shoulder and smirks. “it’s the dimensions,” he says. “it’s because you’re dragging through time.”
as if gravity is presence longing for you. it’s the strum of all the parallel dimensions holding the threads both at bay and aligned. drawn to the earth because the future longs for you the same way the past and present do. we are the vibrations, our lives the song.
in other news
i flew home from nashville to find, suddenly, the trees. look, there’s my heart.