Three Poems by Cam McGlynn

My Universe Runs out of Stars

This Equation Shows That the Universe Will Run out of Stars
         (Scientific American, July 11, 2024)

We sit in the middle
of a cosmic afternoon,
red clouds headed
towards evening.
One day soon, you
will let the neighbors’ dog
out to play and forget
to put her away. We’ll walk
the neighborhood, hand
in hand, as you try
to call her home,
without remembering
her name.
Here, in the red-shifted past,
can we predict
which future day
will be the last one
a star was formed?
What formula will show
the day
your last star shone?

*

Total Obscuring of One Celestial Body by Another

         to my daughter

I wouldn’t write poems about the eclipse.
What can I say that hasn’t been said?
My hand’s curled around your small fingertips?

“Biblically awesome” might come from my lips
but only defined like “I’m trembling in dread.”
I shouldn’t write poems about the eclipse.

The dusk broke too fast. I couldn’t come to grips
to the graying of day and the colors all bled.
My hands couldn’t feel their own fingertips.

Our ancestors read omens of apocalypse.
I wondered if soon I’ll be one of those dead.
I’ll never write poems about the eclipse.

In the darkening day, when the sun, my star, slipped
behind the small globe of the moon’s crowning head,
your hands curled around my large fingertip.

Darkness was there, but there too was the glimpse
of how sun rays are birthed and daybreak is spread.
I’ll try to write poems about the eclipse.
Curl the pen in my hand with your fingertips.

*

Yellowstone

elk bugle
bison bellow
geysers gasp and groan

fractured faults
rumble heat
out of fumaroles

microbial mats
of thermophiles
grow out green and gold

belching mudpots
stink the hides
of steaming buffalo

bear cubs learn
from mother bear
how to grub and gobble

whortleberries raked
from their stems
burst by the mouthful

rhyolite chunks
of old, cold crust
grind to granite and gravel

tell me, please
what faults of mine
could also be this bountiful
*

Cam McGlynn is a writer and researcher living outside of Frederick, Maryland. Her work has appeared in Open Minds Quarterly, Helios Quarterly, Cicada, Quatrain Fish, and Bewildering Stories. She likes made-up words, Erlenmeyer flasks, dog-eared notebooks, and excel spreadsheets.

Two Poems by Jeneva Stone

Entropy

Cats hiss like water spilled on a hot stove. An evaporation of
aggression.

Distracted by my own thoughts, I once heard “poof” and
turned to see the wok flaming, yellow blades igniting then
joining forces in cacophony.

Sometimes energy exerts itself with an inescapable boom—
other times it releases softly. A physicist might intervene and
say something about quantity and molecular structure and
other factors I can’t account for.

There’s an equation for everything. This I know.

But does it matter how your world destabilizes? A stack of
crockery, piled inexpertly, teeters.

You’ve heard that sound—sharpness of the initial strike, softer
cadence following, a dull splitting open, a fear of being caught
in that deluge of rapid-fire noise without shelter or a way
home.

*

Empty Nest

Somewhere there’s a sun that doesn’t sink beneath an
inevitable horizon. Star fire.

I like the way some loves burn yellow-white, small
arms curling and dancing. That band of the color
spectrum blazes steadily. That is, it lasts.

The hottest flames are violet, one letter short of
destruction.

Before 1700, English didn’t differentiate between
“son” and “sun.” Or “sonne” or “sunne.” So many
letters have fallen away, no longer needed.

In the nineteenth century, yellow roses, nested gold
petals, each layer cupping close the next, meant
friendship. Or joy.

One day our sun will grow large, expanding beyond
the invisible limits of those that orbit him. We won’t
burn. We’ll merely cede our place.

*

Jeneva Stone (she/her) is a poet, essayist and advocate. She’s the author of Monster (Phoenicia Publishing, 2016), a mixed-genre meditation on caregiving. Her work has appeared in NER, APR, Waxwing, Scoundrel Time, Cutbank, Posit, and many others. She is the recipient of fellowships from MacDowell, Millay Arts, and VCCA, and has been nominated multiple times for a Pushcart Prize. Her opinion writing has been featured in The Washington Post and CNN Digital. She holds an MFA from the Warren Wilson Program.

Jeneva volunteers for multiple health care and disability groups, coalitions, and boards/taskforces at local, state and federal levels. Her leadership roles include: Blog Manager for Little Lobbyists, a family-led organization advocating for health care of children with complex medical needs and disabilities; Maryland Community Ambassador for the Rare Action Network, and governor’s appointee to Maryland’s Rare Disease Advisory Council.