—after an image from NASA
I gaze at the violet lines
engulfing a star: a radiating disk
wrapped in a belt
of its own debris, pressed out
like an infected cut: violet etched
around the disk, disappearing
into the cool blue
center of the star. As I study the drawing,
my father texts, “another dark
moment for you;” I stop looking
at the image: a blackhole tearing apart
the star, swallowing its remains.
As if hot water were touch, I shower, the steam accumulating
in the cold bathroom.
I will call my grandmother and exchange
notes on loneliness. She will ask me to call
her mother and all our people
who are no more.
Dan Kraines is a queer, Jewish writer, whose poems have appeared in The Normal School, The Carolina Quarterly, and The Adroit Journal, among other publications. Currently, he's finishing a dissertation, for a PhD, about the elegy in the work of four queer poets. He teaches at the Fashion Institute of Technology. Time to write has been afforded to him by fellowships from New York University's Center for Experimental Humanities, Boston University's Program in Creative Writing, The New York State Summer Writers Institute, and the Betsy Writers Room in Miami.