by Elise Rothenhoefer
Empty Pitcher in a Flooded Coal Pit
The shaft opening is a light hole, out to
his world, the way it is with a quasar. It’s
the miner’s only hope, chance of a rescue.
The enormous weight of his anguished
parents, and the prayers of the next-door-girl.
It is a consequence of Einstein’s Theory of
Relativity, the idea that space is distorted
by gravity. If they discover him drowned,
this yawning chasm will delicately wrap the
fabric of space for light years to come.
He reflects on the sunbeams sieving through,
rubbing his eyes with coal-stained palms. If his
pull is strong, the next-door-girl and he, will be tied
in a pair, they’ll be a binary which orbits each other.
He’ll be the one without light. Nearly a black hole.
He lingers one moment on the emptiness of space,
the next on its wholesomeness. The shape of the opening,
of Aquarius, while water’s swallowing half his body.
The pitcher will tell tales of dramatic changes in Steady
State Theory, and how he strained to hear a cosmic stirring.
If he ponders still, the pitcher will fill, spill over with
sunbeams, and on the border of a defeated groan,
open up like a floret. He’ll see himself slithering out, a
snake in the warm meadow, sparkling like a diamond-star.
Mandira Pattnaik’s (she/ her) recent poems have appeared in Prime Number Magazine, The Shore, West Trestle Review, Opia Mag, Thimble, Variant Lit, Feral Poetry, Kissing Dynamite and Eclectica Magazine. She’s fascinated by everything about space, and fiercely protects her own. On Twitter @MandiraPattnaik.
Elise Rothenhoefer is a visual artist, writer, animal lover, and social justice advocate. She manages a graphic design business, Magic Bean Designs. Elise lives in the wilds of Southern Florida with her husband, 3 children, 4 cats, 3 hermit crabs, 2 dogs, 2 guinea pigs, 1 pig and 1 tortoise.