Digital TV Killed the Big Bang
It started with the
clarity rabbit ears cut and buried in boxes.
Sunday green the light off helmets and teeth.
Do we always look this way?
Curdled milk and red cheeks.
We didn’t even notice the absence
of the radio crackle.
One percent of static is the background light from the Big Bang.
Our feet caught on pole’s uneven
precession broken from the bear’s tail.
It is only one percent.
But the universe didn’t care about
the size of the tear in the static.
The sun throwing itself against our wounds beating
aurora shrieks on our fingernails.
We gather
plastic bags and shells, stomped them below our feet.
Tried to stitch close the crinkle of the universe
opening from singularity.
We’re going through a tunnel.
Strung together space-time
with trails of colliding protons spinning
whirligig beetles through magnet tension.
We’re breaking up.
Our fibers pulled red in fractured vision,
Hubble’s mirrored eyes.
We threw our screens
to the gales, pave our streets with cathode and plasma.
We can’t know creation
is a thing that needs to be heard.
And the universe kept unspinning.
The Princess in Blue-Shift
In 4 billion years, the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxy will collide.
She starts dust mote on horizon,
bloom and catch
incisors in her hero’s splayed limbs.
The night devoured under
spokes of suns moribund.
Her smile drips gamma
decay of galaxies cannibalized.
Reaches a hand
between Proxima and Alpha.
Now, there’s no telling
North from South
the pinwheel from the antennae.
Closer comes the maiden in her chains.
Ashely Adams received her undergraduate degree in wildlife biology from Michigan State University. Though going on to pursue creative writing as a graduate student, she has stayed involved in the natural science community and is influenced heavily by the natural sciences. She has been previously published in Heavy Feather Review, Permafrost, Flyway, Anthropoid, The Fourth River, and other journals. Find her on Twitter: @goosegloriosa.
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