roll the thunder, cue the lightning. this stage
is set for storms, and the universe,
in a director’s chair, snaps supernovas to pieces to say action!
or take two! or three or four or seven
hundred sixty three thousand or the number of stars
you can count in light-polluted skies
from the backyard that used to overflow with fire
-dry leaves, back before the roots were torn
up for fear of mammoth trunks splintering
the roof and crushing your chest the way you kill
ants, quick and easy and
careless. the way cold fronts and squall
lines tear up the daisies you planted with your dad.
the way you open your mouth to drink the rain and sate
your aching, only to choke on hail instead. the ground
is shivering underfoot—do you
hear it? the clouds scrunching
themselves into precipitation.
here is a derecho down your throat; this
is the universe’s way of saying: oh, sweetheart, don’t you know
no one is listening to the lub-dub of your heart?
not when there are red giants fusing helium to carbon,
baby girl don’t you know?
and the universe, sovereign
director of the next hit indie movie,
planet earth, claps asteroids together like
hands and says: action.
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