Abigail Zammit's Time Machine

Time Machine

I know / sometimes, that space is touching me
because I have seen the crack in the universe
through which the galaxies stream.
(Jo Shapcott – ‘I’m contemplated by a portrait of the Divine’)

The rain came pattering in tiny clusters.
No one called the night ‘black’. You thought
there were voices leaking through the ceiling.

But all you knew was the bicycle-man flying
on silver spokes. They’d named every constellation,
so you marked the fading nebulae, called Earth

a cigarette butt thrown into space. They fed you
seven words for sadness. In the end, you traced them
to the night-sky: cavernous mouth, star-ripped scars.

The mirror looked at you. Light came from behind you.
The moon died for the billionth night. All you know
is the bicycle-man flying on silver spokes.

*Abigail Zammit was born in Malta in 1976 and currently teaches English literature and creative writing at the Junior College and the University of Malta respectively. She followed a Masters in Creative Writing at Lancaster University after which she published her first book of poetry – Voices from the Land of Trees, Smokestack 2007. She is currently reading for a PhD in creative writing and working on a new collection of poetry.

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