Law of Exponents



Poem - by John Reinhart



So it happens like this.


New settlers arrive, they round up bricks from the prairie,

from the hills, from the valleys. Wild bricks.


These folks are new. They know nothing

about bricks. Many of the bricks

die in captivity. Die of malnutrition. Die


of enclosed spaces. Unwept. Sandy colored

bricks, red bricks, old chipped and worn bricks.

With utilitarian uniformity, survivors are piled

atop one another to form south-facing foundational walls.


Only the south. We don't build with bricks,

preferring to leave them to their natural ranges, living

in wooden huts and lean-tos. These new arrivals must be

transplanting some otherworldly practice that required

strong south walls, religious, superstitious, just plan practical -


they looked good the first year. As the bricks settled

in, got to know one another, then began fraternizing, marrying,

multiplying in the way that happens when you leave bricks alone,

suddenly the buildings began to shift. A year later, tipping.

By year three already some of the taller buildings fell north

as the bricks multiplied, the little ones growing to adulthood


in only a few months. By the fourth year, there wasn't a brick

building still standing, the bricks scampering into safety

in the woods or burrowing in sand. Since their various habits

had been so upended and new cultures transferred,

these new brick were unpredictable, forming new societies

with anarchic structures previous generations could only dream

or fear. The only colonizers left had moved in with us by then,


our little houses offering little comfort but stability.

In tidal world, the seas set the rules, but where no sea exists,

no one expects to find their very bones ruled by nature's quietest

citizens, the ones living in caves, in burrows, on tree branches.

These minute beings fall easily to our whims unless we recognize

that one is merely one part, one fraction of a multitude becoming

the future. Life is more powerful than those who live it,

each grain of sand a mountain waiting to be born.





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