Belief requires lack of proof:
I think there will be stars because
they’re gone. Now you.
Now that you’ve gone
to prove again what absence takes
(the planetary heart, the stars)
I know belief as true. Thank you.
Blank verse. That’s what the sky
is made of: stars unrhymed,
imagined lines, disordered,
from satellite to moonshot,
wrought down here, by hand.
A line that stops—from me to you.
I know the stars, or one:
I know just how to spin within a hole
until the sun comes up.
Belief the planet turns requires proof:
absence, sense, a place
I’ll never see, payloads
rocketed into the sky.
Belief will end. Stop. Stop.
It ends—if you are gone.
In this 28th edition of Waccamaw, the Nigerian poet Fasasi Abdulrosheed Oladipupo unpacks the meaning…
[wc_row] [wc_column size="one-half" position="first"] Editorial Team Nonfiction Editor: Amy Singleton Poetry Editor: Brittany Davis Poetry…
The S.C. Creative Sociology Writing Competition invited undergraduate and graduate students from any discipline in…
Museum: a depository of grief displayed aesthetically; I carry the mishaps of things I want…
we say the knife is dead, or the mouth of the knife is dead because…
This website uses cookies.