December 17, 2022
The netting weaved of black goat hairs,
forms sackcloth, milled by moths
into the holes of refraction,
lighting up the gravity waves.
They say anger burns bright,
I say it burns black, as dark
as the singularity of a black hole.
A life crossing the event horizon,
sucked into long spaghetti strings.
© the author
by Barbara A. Meier
Barbara A. Meier moved home to Kansas, where she cherishes the fields of wheat and sorghum, little boys and girls in John Deere tractor shirts, and the wide blue bowl of the sky. She works in a second-grade classroom and takes time to drive the dirt roads around Lincoln, Kansas. She has three published chapbooks, “Wildfire LAL 6”, from Ghost City Press, “Getting Through Gold Beach”, in November 2019 from Writing Knights Press, and “Sylvan Grove”, from The Poetry Box, March 15, 2021. You can find more of her work at https://basicallybarbmeier.wordpress.com/