by Andrew Christoforakis

A black hole’s just another collapsing star.
We talk in circles, no one getting through.
My father’s stubborn like his father was.
Beyond a point, the light will not come back.

We talk in circles, no one getting through.
Tonight his eyes are wide as dinner plates.
Beyond a point, the light will not come back.
The spinning cursor of a loading thought

makes his eyes as wide as dinner plates.
Come back to me and try to draw a clock,
a spinning cursor, or a loading thought.
A hole’s a space where something crucial was.

Come back to me and try to draw a clock.
I hear the wheels all turning in his head.
A hole’s a space where something crucial was.
I hold my breath until a word escapes.

I hear the wheels all turning in his head.
A black hole’s just another collapsing star.
I hold my breath until a word escapes.
I’m stubborn just the way my father was.

Andrew Christoforakis (he/him) is a poet and cubicle-dweller based in Naperville, IL. He has had work published in The Ekphrastic Review, West Trade Review, B O D Y, and others. His chapbook, But What If No One’s Looking Out for Us?, won first prize in the Beyond Words Fourth Annual Chapbook Awards.