Poetry by Monica Smith Hart

             ​  Øyvind Holmstad CC



​
Dark Matter Matters
the story I tell my son to comfort us both

Baby,
everything--
every.  single.  thing. 
in our whole                  w  i  d  e           universe 
holds-together 
because of darkness.

This thing
that we think is super scary
is just the universe’s glue.

It’s true!

Dark matter, the scientists call it. 

This dark matter doesn’t reflect or give off any light, so
we can’t see it, no matter how hard we squint  or
how     w      i      d      e        we open our eyes.
No telescope or FLASHlight or microscope 
in the world 
will let us see it.

Weird, right?
We can’t touch it, we can’t see it, so
we only know it’s there because 
of how it makes
other things act.

It’s kinda like the wind, like how 
a gust makes leaves   shoot                    up off the ground 
                                                                                into tiny little 
                                                                                   tornados, 
                                                                                        how
plastic bags and shopping carts go on
unscheduled flights, how
the kite tries to get away from us and we cannot see what’s—pulling—at—it--

But, if we’re paying attention when the wind blows,
then we might notice other things:
​
like how
the dog can catch smells in the air,
tracing the path with her nose
and her eyes closed. 

Like how 
water can ripple without being touched.

Darkness works the same way, my darling.
Dark matters.

It lets us see what we otherwise miss, like
stars and streetlights and lightning bugs. 

Like how
bright neon green the alarm clock light is. 

Like how
the straight-back chair somehow makes a 
funky-round shadow against the wall.

So remember, my child:
the dark matters,
and we need not be afraid.



Monica Smith Hart is an English professor living with her husband, son, and two rescued pit bulls in the Texas Panhandle.