Size / / /

As it happened, the star she wished on burned

to a cinder crisp before Earth's first

sunset simmered into mist

& shrouded waters still uncursed

by much past microbes. When it flared

its warning pang & cauterized

the sufferings of neighbor worlds,

nothing for parsecs had the eyes

or mind to notice. Seeping out

across oblivious space, its light

seemed little different than before,

held no suggestion of the plight

that alien billions—briefly—faced

on some night magical as this,

as soft with all the scents of spring.

Now, focused only on the kiss

she hopes her lucky star will grant,

she shuts her eyes & lifts her head

beneath this spangled canopy

of pyres to the distant dead.




Ann K. Schwader lives, writes, and volunteers at her local branch library in Westminster, CO. Her most recent poetry collection is Twisted in Dream (Hippocampus Press 2011). Her dark SF poetry collection Wild Hunt of the Stars (Sam's Dot Publishing, 2010) was a Bram Stoker Award nominee. She is a member of SFWA, HWA, and SFPA. Her LiveJournal is Yaddith Times.
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4 Nov 2024

“Did you know,” the witch says, “that a witch has no heart of her own?”
Outsiders, Off-worlders {how quickly one carves out a corner of the cosmos, / claims a singular celestial body as [o u r s] in the scope of infinity}
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