Marriage & Black Holes by Caroline Hardaker

Remember my face, when you look up in bed
through the skylight, the net lace –
I’m the sucking goop between galaxies there,
spread thin like emollient blackcurrant jam
feeding seeds to our stellar satellites.
You could try to finger me, but you can’t anymore,
I’m soft and flighted, wider than the night
and inset with the sparkling stars of life.
And yet – you chose her, and strife,
and all the unknowns of a broken life,
a twister from our warren; that dense space
I’ve been compacting with memories just your size,
honeys, jams, and a wife the size of the sky
bringing in the Sunday news and hot, morning brew.

Caroline Hardaker lives in the north east of England. Her poetry has been featured or is forthcoming by The Stinging Fly, The Emma Press, Neon Magazine, and Shoreline of Infinity. Caroline is a poetry and drama reviewer for the Three Drops From a Cauldron e-zine, and the in-house blogger for Mud Press.

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