Spaghettification

by | Apr 6, 2021 | Issue Twenty, Poetry

Yesterday scientists watched a blast of light from a star as it was eaten by a black hole. A star with the same mass as the sun ripped           into thin strips.  Such a view is not usually possible because the dust & debris cover up the disruption. But this event was visible in telescopes across the world. At some point a teacher told me the sun was a star. And I thought that was cool.  I was proud of myself when I learned how to draw           stars. Crayola-ed my 3rd grade sky with them.  Added a full moon.  I used to get gold stars on my homework. I would peel       them off & stick them to the wall next to my twin bed.  I collected a constellation. My father told me that we could still see stars that were already dead. And I wish I was able to find all of them in the sky.  Identify them confidently.  I used to wish      on stars.  And I know I believed at some point they were angel windows, or alien portals, or maybe the spirits of the dead. I can’t        remember when I learned that shooting stars were meteors & that black holes were imploded stars gathering mass as they devoured                  anything in their galaxy that got too close.  Or when I realized I couldn’t see past the point of no return. My student bought a star & named it after me.  I have it in a frame somewhere. Today I read how stars keep      themselves      together, how their internal pressure prevents them from collapsing,                             & how easily the brightest ones shred–

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