Science  Write  Now

Share article
She wakes in Oz before she arrives— 
a glitch 
in quantum physics: 

              silly space 
              and silly time. 

Both in Kansas and not in Kansas; 
neither no place like home. 

On top of snaking sidewalks shifting before her eyes 
and soon tornado-tossed hair, 
              bricks not quite yellow 
but getting there. 

We had time to kill before and after a melting witch 
so we kissed Dorothy with lips 
               in Rorschach designs, 
then asked her what she knew 

               as we lastly removed the blue dress, 
               and next each garish shoe, 
               and first the basket from her arm. 

Where does the end start— 
the brain? 
               The Technicolor heart? 
Over a rainbow only after the rain? 

               The house lifting before the weather turned, 
               a scarecrow aflame before hellish fire burned, 
               and even 
               before judged by his maker. 

A lion’s courage comes only after the medal.
It was all a dream only after we wake her. 

Later (or was it before?) 
we found 
a god 
               behind a curtain 
               before the help of 
a dog. 

The Maker a man— 
botched balloonist from somewhere over fly-over states 
crashing here only to rise into a heaven without us— 

both a god and not God 
               whether we pay attention or not. 
A good man, a bad wizard. 

It’s the watching that changes everything. 
It’s the peeking behind the curtain that makes it one 
               or the other. 

And only after we click our heels 
we see: 

an emerald cosmopolis 
was waiting, 

               was welcoming us.