Hawking now tells us
the universe rests on string.
No,
not resting, but
bouncing, vibrating, even
singing, I suppose.
Doubting Thomas that I am,
I don't accept this theory.
It's not string that holds
the universe together.
It's ribbon.
Luminous strands
of ribbon.
Some are magenta.
And turquoise and brown.
Some with loops at their edges.
The scalloped ones make up the sea.
The metallic ones fashion the stars.
And did you see the purple ones
dance in the eyes of the one who
gave you your first kiss?
I've known it since when
for a nickel a yard,
from the large glass counter,
I eagerly chose
the one I would wear in my hair.
I have never spun it into
a theory, but ribbon is the stuff
that holds up your hair,
and your heart,
and the universe.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.