by Jonathan Everitt
Hypothesis inspired by a myth, we named her Theia,
for a Titaness. The size of Mars, her failed orbit
sent her hurdling toward Earth, still a molten sea.
Direct hit fused two planets’ iron cores, reset our axis,
separating autumn from spring. Theia’s violent end
made a merged Earth enveloping a parasitic iron twin.
And we scattered her ashes to the heavens, where her
debris field’s orbit formed our moon, only to be scarred
by eons of assault. Orphaned by one. Worshipped by all.
Sometimes the empirical yields Greek tragedy. To wit:
Our new Apollo retrieved the rocks that spilled the story.
How many bodies have been vaporized for sibling rivalry
or a mother’s instinct? Poets and prophets have sung
of the moon for millennia. We, of water and carbon.
Acid and code. We of bread and wine. Christ and sacrifice.
Yet the first Son of God was a Daughter. She died so that
we might live in the midst of eternity’s explosion. World
without end whose radiant signature echoes in us like a hymn.
About the Author:
Jonathan Everitt’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Steam Ticket, The Wild Umbrella, Laurel Review, BlazeVox, Passengers, Impossible Archetype, Ghost City Press, and the Moving Images poetry anthology, among others. His poem, “Calling Hours,” was the basis for the 2015 short film, Say When. Jonathan earned his MFA in creative writing from Bennington College. He lives in Rochester, N.Y., with his partner, David Sullivan.