131/365: Cruelty as a Tool for Community Building
I pointed into the night sky
and told my little brother the worst thing I could think of:
It takes the light from some of those stars
thousands of years to reach Earth.
That speck of light up there might be 6000 years old,
and the star that sent it might be dead by now.
The light is all we have left,
and one day that will be gone, too.
He asked me why God would make stars that die,
and I said I didn't know why
God only makes things that die.
That's just how He makes things.
That's how he made us.
It felt delicious to infect someone else
with my pernicious anxiety,
to alienate someone from the childish notion
of a universe that wants to keep us warm.
I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.