Little Universes

by Heather Demetrios

Death is the ultimate black hole.

It doesn’t matter how tightly you hold on to someone. Eventually you have to let go.

I never knew a dirty kitchen floor could feel like a temple or that a boy wearing a faded Dropkick Murphys shirt could be its high priest.

There are no answers in the darkness. Just more questions.

Snow swirls around him, and he is a poem. Does he know? Does he know how beautiful he is?