My mother was a black hole,


A star collapsed on itself

Built into something greater.

She existed at the center of everything

Terrible and lovely,

Shaping our tiny slice of the galaxy

In whatever way she saw fit.

I can see, now, that she could  not help but implode

Time and again,

Restructuring  herself each time with stolen bits of the lives around her.

This is the nature of everyday, ordinary lives,

Even if nature abhors a vacuum.




I went to the dock


The one where we met.


It had gone to seed:

Cold and wet,

Nearly forgotten.


I could fix it up


Replace the dead boards.


But that might ruin it,

this memory;

The thought of your smile.


You might look at me

and see air

drifting and empty.


I look at you and

see the sun

shining through the rot.