Why I Disagree with Olber’s Paradox:
Lauren Marie Cappello
And then there are stars, that go unnoticed when the lights are
on,
and many kinds of oceans, latent
in the subway,
the kitchen,
the stair-
case,
the precipice upon which one thing,
leads to another.
Breaking waves upon bellies,
an Orion’s belt of leaves,
from plants promised
a certain demise
on windowsills,
curious over things to know
of the dark.
Observant despite amber
tinted light, lending skin
a gegenschein glow, a starry
particle smooth that
borrowed the heavens from valleys
of vintage corduroy.
Plants search the
stars to sway them, to
tear the sky from cotton,
hands, uncertain in their holding
its lightness,
the texture of a pear,
the tip of my tongue.
Harboring the sky, born
out of a wanton melody
from within viridian skin.
A stomach, full
of constellations.
A dripping wet
chin,
an open umbrella, a
puddle used in secret to
reflect tenthousandyearoldlight
to me, sitting on kitchen counters,
to you, in winged steel boxes, carrying
across breezes, over
miles of farmland that have
never tasted the saltiness of
craving a coastline
when licking their dry
lips, to
other kinds
of oceans.
Memory dim behind reason, casting strange shapes
across faces, exaggerating curves of
cheeks, a distinguished nose, hesitant-
A shadow, too, can be afraid
of itself.
And then there are lights, that go unnoticed when the stars are
on,
and many kinds of oceans from the same raindrops.
Sipping wine
from jars, toasting every point
above the surface
of a star, not to finite time,
but
fingertips,
from these moments,
glowing
a horizon.
Lauren Marie Cappello has work in E·ratio 15 and in E·ratio 16. “Why I Disagree with Olber’s Paradox:” first appeared in the print anthology, Gape-Seed (Uphook Press, 2011).
