The Agonist Journal

Death by Supernova

Rebuke waste. Empty the heart
of its odd preserves.

              I would have my heart
              burst. The sentimental
              Manischewitz in a ventricle’s pantry,
              the unused birthday candles
              gumming up the far side
              of the aorta’s lazy Susan—

Throw them, throw every accelerant
on the pyre.

              I want, in going,
              to anneal the simple elements—
              hydrogen and hunger—
              into the heavier,
              into carbon and love,
              into what we need for life.

Little Mirror

Before it was a mirror
it was a photograph.

And before that it was
a layered page—

iron under lacquer 
under emulsion—

and light, waiting to lick 
the silver from the sheet.

              Small and serious girl with bare shoulders,
              hid halfway down a deck of tintypes:
              dust made your gaze as indefinite
              as if you'd been crying, so I made
              this mistake: I wiped your eyes.

The mirror is no worse
for having held 

another face
more resolutely first.

A smudge of ghost
masks nothing;

it is, in fact, the aura
of life making room.