MIRRORED

by Diana Morley

Astronomers studying the murky center of our Milky Way Galaxy have discovered something they never expected: a pair of young stars orbiting each other near the supermassive black hole that is our Galaxy’s dark heart. The observation—reported today in Nature Communications—comes as a surprise because astrophysicists had thought the black hole’s intense gravity would either rip the stars in such a pair apart or squash them together. But the new object, dubbed D9, shows that such a “binary” can survive, at least briefly, near the black hole, and it could help explain other mysterious objects in the vicinity.—Science, December 17, 2024

Black holes, 

viewed as enormous

greedy suckers 

in galaxy centers

swallowing gas, dust, 

anything coming

their way, and 

two stars just sighted

whipping around 

closer to the Milky Way’s 

own black hole 

than any seen before, 

testing laws of physics 

like teenagers

testing sass for the line

just under the nose 

of consequences.

Diana Morley publishes poetry online (The New Verse News, The Ravens Perch, and Exterminating Angel Press), and in County Lines, a literary journal. She's published a chapbook, poetry collection, documentary of photos and poems, and most receently, a short story.

BONE LIGHT

by Alejandro Escudé

What else could you collect with a sphere

Surrounding a star? In the era of artificiality

And commerce, would it be evidence

Of love? Would it leave a heat signature?

I picture an alien sphere—not metallic

As supposed, but translucent, amorphous,

Twinkling an arthritic light, a series of low-

Frequency whistles. Are there ripe stars

Where you are? Rhyming citadels, chariots

Like half-eaten strawberries? Scientists

Take the pulse of time, they inherit questions

And the questions give birth to universes.

But I wonder about such a powerful warmth

And the results of the search. Is energy

Stored in our marrow? The man himself

Said it would be more a collection of objects.

Like a home? Like most journeys, it might

Prove false evidence of wonder. A god

Unwanted. Light reflected off the bus stop

Bench of a galaxy. As of late, life’s become

A chain of human wrist bones, so we must

Look up and dream of a star-engine that’ll

Reveal the fluttering eyelids of another tribe

Mining the fumes of a celestial volcano.

Alejandro Escudé published his first full-length collection of poems My Earthbound Eye in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches high school English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.