Suspended in Space

—A golden shovel using a line from Paige Lewis’s “Because the Color is Half the Taste”

There are 4,548 stars in the night sky, and I
haven’t bothered to notice a single one. I learn

depressing facts about myself every day like I’m the
type of person who ignores the universe

rather than attend its dinner parties. Tell me, is
the body celestial if it’s launched into space? I need an

answer. No, I need to find the omnipotent arrow
that points towards meaning. I have to find it without

my eyes. There are things about this life that don’t end
quick enough: office jobs, dentist appointments, and

war. What was I talking about? Stars. Universe. Bodies. It
seems impossible that we all exist here, and that we do asks

the question, Who doesn’t exist? Never mind. There’s only
ever questions and never answers. There’s only ever one

dinner party invitation and never a question
about my body suspended in space. How

is my body a star burning? Do I dare
look at the universe and say, You.