And the Universe Said We Are Everything You Think Isn’t You
in October, Mars will
make its autumnal arc
with our Moon, and decorate
the night sky with red.
It will sit so close
to the rounded pale disc,
as if it too, so many miles away,
wishes to be with us every night.
they say we come
from that little red laser dot,
as bacteria stowed away
on an icy rock, careening towards
oblivion. What it must have been like,
to make that long journey
in the crater of an asteroid, to crash
into the hot rock
that would become the Earth,
to sink into the primordial soup
of water and magma. And then,
against every odd--
as suddenly as stars give out
and implode into blackness, as
suddenly as this universe began
in a symphony of heat
and light and nowness--
to breathe again under the sun.
This is Not a Poem, It is Protection
“So be it”
This good morning, I let
the birds wake me before the sun.
The mourning dove cries
for me until I get myself
out of bed. I walk barefoot
to the front door and before I step
out into the pinking dawn,
I turn my back to the world outside.
Climb my porch steps from memory
one, then two, and land on the rocky
pavement. Walk myself backwards
down the driveway until I reach
the harsh dip of it into the street.
I cannot pick up my tracks here,
as there is no dirt, but I touch
my hand down to the dewed ground
and sit a while. Close my eyes
and let the newly arrived cardinal
sing a prayer for me. Soon,
I straighten myself up, and enter
my home again. Drink the water
I should have used to rinse my face.
Spill just enough of my morning
coffee’s sugar on the counter.
When I sit in bed again, and watch
the sun greet me, I pray
no one else will die today.
Candria Slamin (she/her) is a recent college graduate from Virginia, USA. When she’s not being a poet, she’s busy being a giant nerd on the Internet. Find her on Twitter at @candyslam_.
Uncovered logs from the distant past and the future beyond.