When I mention the ravages of now, I mean to say, then.
I mean to say the rough-hewn edges of time and space,
a continuum that folds back on itself in furtive attempts
to witness what was, what is, and what will be. But what

I actually mean is that time and space have rough-hewn edges.
Do I know this for sure? No, I'm no astrophysicist. I have yet
to witness what was, what is, and what will be. But what
I do know, I know well: bodies defying spatial constraint.

Do I know this for sure? No, I'm no scientist. I have yet
to prove that defiant bodies even exist as a theory, I offer
what I know. I know damn well my body craves the past tense,
a planet in chronic retrograde, searching for sun's shadow.

As proof that defiant bodies exist in theory, I even offer
what key evidence I have: my life and Mercury's swift orbits, or
two planets in chronic retrograde, searching for sun's shadow.
Which is to say, two objects willfully disappearing from present view.

Perhaps life is nothing more than swift solar orbits, or dual
folds along a continuum that collapse the end and the beginning
which implies people can move in reverse, will their own vanishing;
or at least relive the ravages of then-right here, right now.

About This Poem
"The pantoum 'Descent of the Composer' seeks to interrogate the uncertain emotional landscape of an addict in recovery. The repetitious nature of the form suggests relapse, but the subtle shifts in diction and syntax welcome possibility."
-Airea D. Matthews

About Airea D. Matthews
Airea D. Matthews is the author of "simulacra," winner of the 2016 Yale Series of Younger Poets prize (Yale University Press, 2017). She writes and lives in Detroit.

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The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.


(c) 2016 Airea D. Matthews. Originally published in Poem-a-Day, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate