Issue 4 - Bette Lynch Husted

Ways of Looking at the Universe

We wake to darkness.

Snow, a pall of freezing fog, ice

falling from the sky. But listen:

it’s the BBC—

Astronomers have learned to see

beyond the template of the Milky Way

and found three times more stars

than anyone imagined. Sextillions!

It’s problematic. Deeply unsettling,

the radioman says. Frankly,

it’s a monkey wrench thrown into

all we thought we knew

of when and how. So why

are you and I dancing in the kitchen now,

two small human flames

in all this light?

Christmas Letter

Last night,

the bedroom window lit by snow

falling again, the cleared path filling—

I thought of you.

It’s morning now, and still December dark,

though four small candles light our sill

and there’s the fire. The string of colored lights

against the pane.

Against the pain this year we had infusions—

ineffectual—and love.

Our children came and went, joy

clinging to their dear tear-dampened sleeves.

We didn’t go to Scotland.

You know all this. It’s just the Solstice, I suppose—

that human urge to measure, reaching out

for balance. What I meant to say

is: count the stars. The brightest one

is you. Stay warm. Call when you can.

--Bette Lynch Husted

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