Howie Good

Another Word For It

A naked woman,
pollen caught
in her fuzzy triangle,
stands atop
a heap of broken stones
in a strange pose,
& it’s impossible
when looking up at her
not to imagine
some prior tragedy
in a crowded street
or to speak
without whispering,
even if no one
is there to overhear
your obscure,
anxious message.

Each of Howie Good‘s poems is a literary quantum phenomenon. Each exists partly in all its particular theoretically possible states simultaneously; and only when measured or observed, that is, read, does its wave function collapse and we speak of it appearing in a particular place, such as this journal.