Size / / /

Ascending for seventy-three euphoric
seconds we thought they’d got away.

A second sun bloomed in the sky,
eruption eclipsed our ears and I don’t

know whether that whine was spiralling
rockets or a collective scream but I do know

it was the worst sound to ever howl through
me. Later, I learned the crew must’ve survived

initially, though it would have been kinder
if they’d died in the blast. The cabin went

ballistic—traced a perfect rainbow
to its fool’s gold end. Rudderless

and wingless for two-and-three-quarter
minutes’ eternity the crew was conscious,

toggling switches in vain. Comms down.
Power out. Recorder stopped. Oxygen on.

Hell, they could see death coming, 
but had no way to stop it and no one to tell.




Bronwyn Lovell is a Melbourne-based poet. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, including Best Australian Poems, Award Winning Australian Writing and the Global Poetry Anthology. She has won the Adrien Abbott Poetry Prize and been shortlisted for the Newcastle, Bridport, and Montreal prizes. She is currently writing a science fiction verse novel.  Find her at www.bronwynlovell.com.
Current Issue
26 Feb 2024

I can’t say any of this to the man next to me because he is wearing a tie
Language blasts through the malicious intentions and blows them to ash. Language rises triumphant over fangs and claws. Language, in other words, is presented as something more than a medium for communication. Language, regardless of how it is purposed, must be recognized as a weapon.
verb 4 [C] to constantly be at war, spill your blood and drink. to faint and revive yourself. to brag of your scars.
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