FIX

by Alice Fulton


There is no caring less


for you. I fix on music in the weeds,


count cricket beats to tell the temp, count


my breaths from here to Zen.


September does its best.


The Alaskan pipeline lacks integrity,


mineral fibers are making people dizzy,


we're waiting for a major quake. Ultra-


violet intensity is gaining,


the ozone's full of holes and

I can find no shade.


There is no caring less.


Without the moon the earth


would whirl us three times faster, gale-force


winds would push us down. Say


earth lost mass, a neighbor


star exploded -- it's if

and and and


The cosmos owns our luck.


Say under right and rare conditions,


space and time could oscillate.


I know what conditions


those would be for me.


I'd like to keep my distance,


my others, keep my rights reserved.


Yet look at you, intreasured,

where resolutions end.


No matter how we breathe


or count our breaths,


there is no caring less


for you for me. I have to stop myself

from writing "sovereign," praising


with the glory words I know.


Glaciologists say changes


in the mantle, the planet's vast


cold sheets could melt. Catastrophe


is everywhere, my presence


here is extra -- yet --


there is no caring less.



Alice Fulton is the author of a collection of essays, (1999). Her poem in this issue will appear in her new book, to be published next year.


All material copyright © 2000 . All rights reserved.