Libby Stott

To Richard Feynman, Concerning His QED

 

All we do is draw little arrows on a piece of paper—that’s all!
—Feynman explaining how physicists calculate reflection

It must have been gold
to see you in the flesh—oh what profound

and light amazement you could radiate.

And when translating arrows
into books,

you sharpened the points, then aimed
so you would pierce

the dullest hearts and minds.
Yet how could lines

on paper show
full force of your delight?

The core of your passion, now,
has streaked on through

and out to the other side—
along with you.

In spite of laurels,
no spring could reverse

your death, or this

falling of love into symbols,
this plummet of sun

into wood.

Ah, Richard, love,
when all is done,
and said,

there’s still no common physic
that can cure

this falling of gold to lead.


Libby Stott is the author of the indie poetry collection Dancing with a Baptist (2013). Her poems have been published in Poetry and other journals, and her manuscript “Sharing an Apple” was named a finalist for the 1996 National Poetry Series. Twice widowed, she lives in Oklahoma with her cat, Jr.