Shana Ross
Mineralogy
Stibnite is where we get antimony
On earth, the crystals grow thin and clustered
Blue, if blue were colorless
Something like a dawn sky
Where the sun is not yellow, the sky is not blue
But raw sense talks to rational thought
Is scolded by emotional understanding and
Everyone comes to an unexpected conclusion
As the birds make swells of sound, their
Chirps swarm like bees moving hives.
I do not know how they make the decision to leave home
Or if it falls alone on the queen
It seems useful to ask
In case we ever become bees.
Shot into the sky and detonated
Antimony sparkles, reflecting fire,
Falls in arcs and sizzles until darkness reasserts.
We all sit on our blankets
Staring up and trusting
The show will stir things in us—
Like joy and wonder and I am not there
So I go to the museum and hunt
For the mineral, staring into the imperfect mirror
And take what I can get.
Call me when you find America
It’s hard to maintain
Sanity, hope, gravity, clean water, good boundaries
Under these conditions.
Am I devoted to a thing
Or the elements stripped from it
Until dichotomy itself is meaningless?
Shana Ross is a poet and playwright with a BA and MBA from Yale University. Her writing career has been dormant for 18 years for reasons both practical and best discussed in therapy. This decade, her work has been published in Anapest Journal, SHANTIH Journal, and Writers Resist.
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