When I Talk to the Universe by Megan Windom
I said to the Universe “I exist!”
but the Universe did not answer me.
I learned how to shout from my family,
emptying my lungs all at once. A push
condensing on the cold glass I search through.
Waiting for a knowing response to come,
finding nothing, finding everything
staring back at me through the broken blinds.
Opulent gems shining their illusive
hints from millions of years before my past
They find answers to their simple questions.
Finding a lost shoe becomes a reply
from the deity who apparently
has nothing better to do with his time
than waste it on things that don’t matter.
I am greeted with no acknowledgment.
Pleas for help held in by the atmosphere,
reflected back at me where they tremble
before they fall limply down at my feet.
No one lifts me up when I too fall down.
They whisper “How sad” – as though I’ve been lost.
Animosity burns my throat, my eyes,
calling bullshit on their humility
and so-called compassion that loses ground
as soon as anyone thinks differently.
But I won’t deny them their own comfort.
I get mind by the wind blowing through ferns,
tracing my shadow over the water.
But I’m almost certain the Universe
doesn’t actually care that I exist.
____________________________________________
A Man Said to the Universe by Stephen Crane
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
“A sense of obligation.”
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