Celestial Bodies
I will never see gravity
pulling down through
a black hole, but
I believe. It flexes when
I knock my favorite teacup
off the desk and it smashes.
I trust that if I were to fall
into a black hole, I would
stretch and then break – sometimes I
think about pregnancy. My mom
would have the grandchild she’s always
wanted. But that would be
the only reason to stretch
my body wide: for the sake
of the one who stretched for me.
This is what I know
of space: dead starlight, skeletons
still seen in the sky long
after they’re gone. I know that
someday our sun will swell
into a red giant, only
to dissipate – never
to be that bright and blinding,
flaring supernova.
This is what I know of my body:
I’ve never held a man’s
heart long enough that it burns
in my palms, a bright star
whose orbit I fall towards
and revolve. I’ve compressed
myself down until I’m too small
to house a child, the gravity
at my center too strong
for anyone else to break open.
Confessions of a Quasar
I miss the taste of stardust, miss hoarding the odds &
ends of elements around my accretion disk – back
when I was a swirling startling stamp of electrons,
when I was new & didn’t know any better –
do you remember?
you both smashed together & became me, this one
starving creature –
you spiraled inward & ate each other alive
& you should have known it
would destroy you & create me,
this spark of light
& dark energy
there’s almost nothing left of you –
what was once one &
what was once the other
whatever became of you –
it’s warped in me
I’m an outpouring of light –
you took too much with you &
it will soon
disperse & I will be done
scientists studying me already know so little, they
don’t know what to make of my screaming,
what to make of me, the remnant
of galaxies cramming together
I suck in the nothing to fill what can’t be filled
I’ve learned emptiness never diminishes such hunger
Robin Cedar is a recent graduate from Oregon State University, where she earned her MFA in poetry. She serves as poetry editor and social media manager for 45th Parallel. Her work has appeared in Blue Mesa Review, Front Porch Journal, Leveler, The Fem, and elsewhere.