Hot Pot Magazine

By T. R. Poulson

I disagree. If my niece asks, I’ll tell her
about princess stories—I dreamed of tying
satin ribbons, but fell into a cellar

of lonely. I’ve stumbled, done my crying
alone. A black hole pulls, untwists, untwines
as though a beast, alive. But I’m defying

science. I feel the pull, the forever line
of lonely’s orbit. The hand of gravity,
cold and hard, has served its glass of wine,

and I have tasted, filled my core cavities
drunk with wound. My choice: give in
or turn. I’ll show my niece the majesty

of stars. A nova spreads her color, driven
by energy. A moon falls in her planet’s
shadow, always returns to light. I’ve forgiven

men who made their hands my magnets,
and tossed me, an unknown world, thrown
from orbit. I’ve built and filled my cabinets

with stardust, tails of comets, paths drawn
in glitter. She’ll know lonely made me strong.
I fell in love when she was born. She’ll know
my black hole still pulls. It’s warmer now.

T. R. Poulson, a University of Nevada alum and proud Wolf Pack fan, supports her writing habit by delivering for UPS in Woodside, California.  Her work has appeared in various publications, including Best New Poets, Gulf Coast, and Booth.  She is currently seeking a publisher for her first manuscript, tentatively titled At Starvation Falls.  Find her at www.trpoulson.com and on social media as @trpoulson.