Marie Lecrivain

Supernova

the summer

of my 18th year

we met while

we worked under

a hot white star

you approached me

like a thief 

in the night

which made 

me smile

I’d liked you

for awhile

though it was

your best friend

I was after

but my efforts

were in vain

so I accepted

your clumsy 

courtship

and ignored 

microaggressions

disguised as 

helpful 

hints

I was hungry

for what

I assumed

was love

but was abuse

under the night sky

above

Castaic Lake

you said

those magic words

which I echoed 

back as acceptance

like a good girl

is supposed

to do

I can’t take back

what I said

even though

it was 

a lie

I can’t take back

the wound I opened

in your ignorant

and primitive

heart

worn down

from your endless

suggestions of how

I could be

a better girlfriend

I destroyed us

with everything I had

and gave you back

all the pain 

you forced on me

Sometimes I wonder

where and how

you are

we never spoke

again

I’ll never forget

how I ripped your soul 

in half

or the tears 

in your eyes

Why None of Us Will Ever Die

There’s no night without stars - Andre Norton

       Living in Los Angeles feels like eternal twilight. The smog and light pollution render the night sky a dirty, opaque purple. From my window, I see planes fly by and pretend they’re comets, shooting stars, or perhaps, one of those old Soviet soyuz capsules with the cooked remains of a doggynaut falling back to earth after 67 years. 

       You have to go up to the Griffith Park Observatory, the top floor of the Citibank building in DTLA (above the inversion layer), or drive 40 miles north to Ventura to see real stars. If you drive up to one of the campgrounds, like La Jolla, you can pitch your tent and roast marshmallows by the sea. 

        At 1:56 am, after a night of drinking and rough sex, when you look up, you’ll see the arch of the Milky Way over your head, a band of billions of years shining right before your eyes. If you feel a momentary elation, followed by a drop in the pit of your stomach, like you just jumped off a cliff, this is the affirmation you need to remind you you’re a cosmic speck made of the same stars that will be there long after your bones have turned to dust.