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Susa Silvermarie


Susa Silvermarie is grateful to spend her third trimester of life in Ajijic Mexico, writing poetry, fiction and essays at Her e-book, Tales from My Teachers on the Alzheimer’s Unit is available on Amazon and all platforms.

Holy Black Hole

For a woman saying Black Hole,
for a woman to hear herself say it,
for a woman to feel the words
reverberate in the air,
the phrase is as comfortable
as the canal connecting vulva and womb.

Now we learn that a Black Hole
is the womb of everything, that
at the rim of its event horizon,
our multiverse bursts forth
into material visibility.

The black hole with its inky black depths,
is still a thundering falls,
as we imagined it before, except
it pours, not inwards, but outwards.
From a black hole, our galaxy
erupted like a baby’s head.

Each atom of the body,
each atom, for that matter,
of all the atoms in the cosmos,
has at its nucleus, a black hole proton;
and each of those, on its surface,
contains a hologram of –
everything, the complete encodement
of every information point there is.

Oh Black Hole, your inelegant name
morphs to grandeur, and
your iconic wonder makes me holler:
I come from a holy Black Hole!

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