Tonight I Learn that We Live in a Croissant-shaped Bubble in Space

 "The only clue is pleasure." ~ Claire Schwartz

Would you rather be a landmine 

remover or a firefighter? Both 

involve risk of sudden explosions.

Would you rather be a stuntman  or

sanitation worker? Someone has to jump 

the car wreck then pick up the pieces.

How about an oil rig worker

or prison guard? A scientist or Lego 

master model builder; chocolate taster

or boulanger, which is the French

term for bread maker? I learned

the hard way that yeast

can be killed if the water 

is too hot, that egg whites 

won't form soft peaks if

the bowl is even a smidge

wet. Think of how, for every job, 

someone must have had to practice 

countless times: the chemist 

figuring out the particle differences 

between poison and the benign, 

the podiatrist making copious notes

on ingrown toenails and plantar

fasciitis. Tonight I learn

that heliosphere is the name 

for the field in space in which

our solar system is tucked— 

like a long sheet of cling wrap 

sheltering us from solar fires

and electrical forces

that would otherwise bend us

out of shape or turn us into unknown

mutations of ourselves. Scientists 

up the road at NASA are saying

that this pocket holding us and other

planets is shaped more like a croissant—

I peer at the simulation image which does 

somewhat resemble the flaky layered 

pastry which my husband 

loves so much and which I can get "free,"

four to a box, if I buy a tub of chicken 

salad at the grocery. Curled

on its side, red lines stripe it like 

a banneton would. Perhaps this represents 

that magnetic shield; and we are somewhere 

folded into the sweet-salty middle, all 

together with floury constellations while 

the oven temperature keeps rising.