Poetry by Vanessa Escobar

               ​Canan Çengel CC




It Might be Too Late to Learn Quantum Physics 

Mornings are weird and there are no time machines. 
Your plant is still alive on my windowsill.
She is a cactus with tiger stripes and for a little bit 
she was drooping. 

I gave her too much attention and water, so I backed away 
for a couple of weeks to give her space. And I waited
for her to get stronger. I waited for me to get stronger too.

And sometimes I leave the blinds open like you used to
when you’d come over. She likes when the sun comes 
through and I like when its night and I can see the trees up close.
She’s doing better but it still hurts to think about you.

Her leaves are getting firm and I’m always sticking my finger
into the soil to make sure it’s not too dry. 
When I water her, I’m always afraid I’ve poured too much. 
I hold her up to my face, try to give her the love that remains. 

At night I spread my entire body across the mattress
and think it might be too late to learn quantum physics.
Too late to make one more grand gesture. 
Too late to ask you to stay. 

I pick the scab off my busted knee, you always said I was clumsy.
I think of your face on my pillow. And I wonder who was actually 
there with me

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Vanessa Escobar is a 31-year-old queer Latinx poet living the corporate America life but always dreaming of something more. She’s in love with the city of Houston despite no desire to live in the South. She has a nefarious, escape artist dog named Stella and is currently at work on her first book of poems. You can find her at escobarvanessa.com.

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