by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Even as she made the cauliflower soup,
she was a deep space explorer.
No one else in the room seemed to notice

she was floating. No one noticed
how gravity had no hold on her.
No, they only saw she was chopping onions,

noticed how the act made her cry. How was it
did they not hear her laughter, astonished
as she was by her own weightlessness,

by the way she could move in any direction?
Perhaps the novelty explains why
she forgot to turn off the stove,

untethered as she was to anything.
It’s a miracle she sat at the dinner table at all,
what, with the awareness that she was surrounded

by planets, spiral galaxies, black holes, moons. Yes,
miracle, she thought as she tasted the soup,
and noticed deep space not just around,

but inside her: supernovae, constellations,
interstellar dust,
the glorious, immeasurable dark.