a gap in the universe

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by Maryann Aita

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I killed myself
with a shooting star;

it splintered my heart and I

radiated beams of endless light
from every artery
and blood cell.

I disintegrated
into sidereal dust

and I
became the universe.

   *

it began in the dark

a point of energy expanded
into atoms
and galaxies
and stars

   *

my mother is a supernova

        an explosion

of sequin shirts
and personality

my mother is an alcoholic
      she drinks       and        deludes

—she believes in “LOVE”
          says the gin, through
          her lips

my mother is a victim
she writes to ghosts
about love
and hypnotism

because

my mother is
the “center of the universe”

          , says the gin

   *

when a star dies
it leaves a black hole,

a gap in the universe

   *

my mother drinks        and she blames    and she sobs
and she drinks      and she blames    and she sobs
and she drinks      and she sobs     and she sobs

                          and she explodes

she leaves
a black hole
a ring of infinite density

a singularity,
where even light cannot escape
   *

I dreamt
my mother died this morning—
a collapsing star.

I cut the tether
that tied us

   and drifted

         like a plastic astronaut

back to earth;

      I am the universe.
      I came from the dark.

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Maryann Aita is the author of Little Astronaut, an experimental memoir in essays (ELJ Editions, 2022). Her work has also appeared in PANK, Hobart, Okay Donkey, and The Coachella Review, among others, and she is the nonfiction editor at Press Pause Press. Maryann holds a BA from NYU and MFA from Sarah Lawrence College. Originally from Montana, she now lives in Brooklyn with three cats.

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