Light, Vaulted

A 30 million page backup disc of humanity’s collected knowledge is going 

to the moon,

a safe deposit box, a treasure chest

data files compressed into 21 thin layers.

It contains all of our knowledge

that is housed on Wikipedia.

Listen I love a library but 

I love this world in analogue.

Give me pages and their faults,

pyrophoric, moldering.

Is it stored in binary or in html? A call number for the time  

I plunged my arms into the depths of an indigo vat

lizard brain response to the moment a thing you care for falls away,

exposed to air & anaerobic, my fingers tinctured first

the color of a California hillside

distending into summer then

the color of Mineral Lake into which I hurdled

evenings after dinner sublimating to the deepest blue;

to which article do I append

the eulogy delivered at the funeral of a woman who lived 

allergy-eyed on a riding lawnmower

full speed.

When they arrive 

what they will find 

is beauty,

holographic diffracted glow, 

one DVD.

Bio: Jill Bergantz Carley is a poet with Pushcart nominations and her first collection, ANIMAL VEGETABLE MINERAL, forthcoming from UnCollected Press in 2020. She’s the recipient of fellowships from The Community of Writers at Squaw Valley, Sundress Publications, and Mineral School. Her recent work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Tupelo Press, ENTROPY, Collective Unrest, trampset magazine, Back Patio Press, and elsewhere. She tweets @jillbergantz— say hi!

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