• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 11
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The black hole is just a piece of play doh
stuck on our son’s windowsill looking lonely
which I suppose it is; I know about
loneliness like I know about grief.

I added the wave because water seemed
appropriate, something to wash all
that blackness away, but it could be light
and he’d know how to swim to the light.

My husband added the orange,
I can see why; it looks like Jupiter,
our son’s favourite planet, the joyous
benevolent one like a jolly uncle
come to visit.

I leave the black hole, the wavy light
and Jupiter where it is, a family art work,
a memorial to our son’s short life.