STEM cells

Being a woman, it took a lot of courage

The kind that clenches your abdomen

Like menstruation,

And then it was only once, not monthly. 

I once asked a cosmologist

about his poetic tendencies, I thought I caught

a glimmer, it was in fact, a pungent reaction.

The mere concept was rejected as any preposterous old electron

Would be out of line. Needless to say, the hypothesis was

Brushed off like the free radical

I was standing there, circling him

And trying to get in-closer.

I was the chicken laying an egg,

Peeking inside his paradox.

In hindsight, it was foolish,

Asking an astrophysicist, a theoretical one, anyway

About his propensity with words, metaphorically,

In lieu of his numerical potency,

Silly me, little lady.

Considering I am entitled to (k)no(w) facts,

In my female tone, I displayed

A type of  indiscretion, often a woman’s way

Of adding verbs to scientific theory.  

Photo credited to National Photo Company; c. 1919, Restored by Adam Cuerden [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Professor

He spoke of the same humbling
Revelation
As if he had just learned it
himself
forgetting he had said this
every time I met him-

The first time
it was
news (to me)
Now, he says
it as Truth.

It may be so
fascinating, even true, however,
there are reasons
it is
he will never know.



Image credit by Metropolitan Museum of Art [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

(The) Professor New

“Art is how we see the world”

she said, and it was

pure poetry precisely
made New

by the way she looked

at exactly what she expected

to see, in awe

of (extra) ordinary beauty

and its blinding

ability to blend

Me to You

Grasping at Ghosts

“Imagination like electricity,”

he responded,

shocked at his own

physic-all-poetic-kinetic-energy.







Image of painting by Theo van Doesburg [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.