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we stopped, unpacked The Principles of Chemistry and stuttered science in amateur voices. We scribbled furiously at numbers, but no pretty equation yielded the mystery of how one could lose, but not lose, one's self in another. We couldn't represent with our small math why matter manages to stick together or how that was the only night we kissed, sharing electrons and spit. I tried to show Terry how iron, happy alone, and oxygen, sexlessly 
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coupled with itself, were really happier (with a little give and take of electrons) to charge each other, become individually violent and unstable but together, tightly bonded, magnificent rust. Jesseca Cornelson teaches at The Ohio State University. Her poems have also appeared in Mid-American Review and the Columbus Dispatch, and she writes poetry reviews for the Ohioana Quarterly. 
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