Shevaun Brannigan uses a familiar image in a fresh, stunning, sustained way.
Stars—They’re Just Like Us
collapsing, pressured—call me
a nova, I too was formed
by a collision of two galaxies
that never should have met.
You are luminous.
They say orbiting together
changes us. I used to shine
for anyone. Out of the billions
of stars, I thought I could
predict the future. That
I would die alone, my last light
speeding for years beyond me,
catching in the telescope of a boy
who hadn’t yet been born.
For hundreds of years, they said
we were immutable. What I would give
to stay on course with you
forever, or until
the universe ran out of fuel,
the heavens dimming around us
as galaxies gave out,
like in a bar when the bartender unplugs
each neon beer sign one by one, until
all that is left is the exit
until its neon dies,
or the world does.
Interested in submitting poetry to The Good Men Project? Check out our guidelines.
Like The Good Men Project on Facebook
Photo by NASA Goddard Space Flight Center /Flickr