{"id":18869,"date":"2025-02-27T16:00:42","date_gmt":"2025-02-27T22:00:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=18869"},"modified":"2025-02-27T16:10:47","modified_gmt":"2025-02-27T22:10:47","slug":"miracle-equations","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/02\/24\/the-excavation-of-now-miracle-equations-unfolding\/","title":{"rendered":"The Excavation of Now, Miracle Equations, &amp; Unfolding"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong>The Excavation of Now, Miracle Equations, &amp; Unfolding<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>David M. Alper<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:25px\"><strong>The Excavation of Now<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I stand in the kitchen, hands submerged in soapy<br>water, the weight of the dishes providing a comfort.<br>Outside, a cardinal flashes red against the green<br>backdrop, reminding me that beauty endures, even in<br>the most ordinary moments.<br><br>I think of my grandmother&#8217;s hands and how they took<br>dough and kneaded perfect spheres, how silence<br>could shout. Her calluses now sleep in my palms-a<br>roadmap to our ancestry my soapy fingers trace.<br><br>My grandfather&#8217;s name is the hollow of my chest, a<br>presence born from absence. I wonder if he knows<br>how his story branded my bones, how I carry in my<br>blood the ink of his departure.<br><br>The taste of the first love on my tongue-sweet and<br>sharp as the summer berries-lingers on. To love risks<br>everything, everything, for naught. The curve of<br>home in a loved one&#8217;s smile can be found there.<br><br>I am layers and layers, a palimpsest of identities. War<br>and poetry run in tangles in my veins; every word an<br>act of defiance no greater than little against the<br>burden of forgetting. I am the flower of survival<br>which blooms out of cracked concrete.<br><br>The cardinal calls again, persistent. I dry my hands<br>and step outside. The world is filled with questions I<br>can&#8217;t answer, but here, in this moment, the sun warms<br>my face. I am alive, unfinished, and that is enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:25px\"><strong>Miracle Equations<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">I am measuring flour for biscuits in the<br>kitchen.<br>You and quarks come to my mind.<br>How are we all just vibrating strings<br>in an uncertain universe?<br><br>Cracking the egg, I see a yolk fall<br>like a yellow sun into the bowl.<br><br>You loved physics,<br>trying to explain entanglement over breakfast.<br>Now I&#8217;m tangled in your absence,<br>a knot any theorem can&#8217;t uncoil.<br><br>Outside, the bird feeder swings, empty then plenty.<br>Schr\u00f6dinger would appreciate<br>this backyard ballet of probabilities.<br><br>I salt, remembering how you said<br>we&#8217;re just stardust rearranged.<br><br>It is preheating, beeping, a timer counting seconds as particles decay.<br>I roll out biscuit dough and push down with the cutter.<br>The circles are put under my hands into determined shapes.<br>The biscuits rise.<br>Maybe grief obeys the laws of quantum theory.<br>It all existed, many ways at once.<br><br>I am whole and broken all at the same time-<br>grieving and healing.<br>Paradoxes in the toughness of the heart.<br>The timer beeps.<br>I pull out the golden rounds, steam rising toward spirits.<br><br>And all of the equations melt<br>Of flavor in my mouth alive at this one instant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:25px\"><strong>Unfolding<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">We are spiders who hope to catch in the web of<br>time, with our palms being terrain features of the<br>lines of uncertainty. Another day is a flowing<br>water that we never know where is it going to take<br>us\u2014 in the calm waters of yesterday, today&#8217;s tide is<br>like a foreigner. Rain hums against my umbrella, a<br>lonely song of reflection and distance. I catch<br>myself in an antique window, a bird flirting with<br>its own shadowed possibility. My last ten dollars<br>pressed against a fortune teller&#8217;s door, seeking<br>proof that I am not yet a ghost in my own story.<br>We are rivers without maps, wishes floated in on<br>paper boats, immovable as the heart that refuses to<br>be contained. Here I am: still breaking windows,<br>still breathing, still believing in the unwritten<br>tomorrow. But wait\u2014 The spider&#8217;s web trembles,<br>catches fire. I am the owl diving into nothingness,<br>the warm beast coming to you in the dark. My<br>palms ignite with newfound lines, no longer<br>seeking, but carving fate. I press myself down with<br>a long pole until I am still, until I am lightning,<br>until I am human enough to say: I have had enough<br>of gentle currents. I am the storm that rewrites the<br>sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>David M. Alper<\/strong>&#8216;s work appears in <em>Louisiana Literature, Red Ogre Review, Oxford Magazine<\/em>, and elsewhere. He is an educator in New York City.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\">\ud83e\udca0 <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/02\/24\/checked-out\/\">Back<\/a> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/02\/24\/captives\/\">Next<\/a> \ud83e\udca1<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Excavation of Now, Miracle Equations, &amp; Unfolding David M. Alper __________ The Excavation of Now I stand in the kitchen, hands submerged in soapywater, the weight of the dishes providing a comfort.Outside, a cardinal flashes red against the greenbackdrop, reminding me that beauty endures, even inthe most ordinary moments. I think of my grandmother&#8217;s&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[227],"tags":[75,145,18],"class_list":["post-18869","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-black-history-month","tag-boudin","tag-poetry-2","tag-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18869","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18869"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18869\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19050,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18869\/revisions\/19050"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18869"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18869"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18869"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}