Artist's conception of a black holeIn me
and around me
the universe is alive
with old souls;
star fragments swirl by
from a million dead suns
waiting to be reborn.

I am the resurrection
the beginning—the end of
stellar matter sucked
down a dark spiral;
Hades is a black hole,
an immortal worm that slowly twists
recycled energy through my gut,
until a new star is formed.

I powder it with cosmic dust
and push it out
from my white womb
with a cold smack;
space cradles the little one
as it stretches a light-filled tendril
towards the warm Milky Way.

A billion years go by;
the baby star
does not make it
and dissolves,
leaving a trail of waste
that tastes like metal
spinning along the hem
of my black dress.

When I eat it
I have no remorse.

Copyright © 2007, Shelley Lesher

Image Credit: NASA Goddard

Would Shelley Lesher have remorse if she ate her offspring? Maybe, maybe not. At the moment she lives with three of them and one husband in Arizona's high desert . Her favorite food is veggie burgers. Look for her poems in markets such as The Harrow, Scifaikuest, The Sword Review and Aberrent Dreams.