I tell Nicole about the cone of light
inside of which we’re all contained,
and how, once expelled from its magical
and mysterious source, nothing that exists
can go back to where it was born.
She holds it like a curse, the knowledge
that simply due to the shape
and speed of light, we must continue
the way we are going.
But I like to picture the parties,
where no one understands yet
what they will lose,
and in what breathtaking amounts.
They dance, at these parties,
and the light trails off them,
and if you were to knife through it all,
this is what you would get: a slice of time
illuminated from behind, a microscope slide
smeared with smoke and murmurs,
on which people who are trapped forever
inside the ever-expanding cone of the universe
do not know they are trapped,
nor do they feel trapped,
nor would it ever occur to them
to try to escape — like the birds
who fly thousands of miles over the sea,
following their magnetic unknowns.
And I like to think of the new ghost
in the mirror behind the front door,
who does not miss the light
they have become.
Time, to ghosts, is like the air
to birds: we cannot begin to imagine
the unencumbered angles
they traverse.
First published in Adult Groceries.
Theo Zucker (they/he/she) lives in Chicago, where they write poems, perform Shakespeare, and lend their voice to audio dramas. Theo's work has been published in Hominum Journal and Adult Groceries, and their short story Henry received nominations for The Pushcart Prize and the 2024 Best of the Net Anthology.