QUARTO FOR L.—–
such a small thing brought us together
a shared delight a galaxy an opening salvo
the connection between us blooming
and we are so different except when we
delight in our shared joy we remember
the power held in such a transient thing
and we live our different lives
cross oceans and land find a new shape
a self that opens to the world
waiting for you to enter it making
every day become better than yesterday
how miraculous we still share this
rebels never give up
Star Wars taught us this
differences are to be celebrated
listen to the world singing
feelings must not rule you
hope the fuel of light and life
study art spit fire take leaps
of faith find a family discover
there will always be good in
you this world trust you can win
realize surviving is possible
recognize each other as kin
the fact that we’re still friends
is exceptional after all these years
you might expect our fondness to fade
beings drifting apart is inevitable
yet you are still here together with me
in this life we learn the more we
grow how is it that we confront and
vanquish it each time knowing more about
each other seems like magic or
force beyond our understanding
it seems we’re always learning more
witness Luke Leia Han our bright trio
incredible they still shine with triumph
as they mature and age into new
people face new challenges new choices
the bond endures this almost-pact
fight a shared enemy keep room to
finish what was started or leave it
trusting in good always holding
what we’re always learning to use the
skills we carry without realizing
this knowledge is what they gave us
AS NIGHT FALLS OVER THE PLANET
with a debt to Ed Yong
There are no forests anymore, just bleak barrens—
spikes in every direction. Without superior predators
in the food chain, animals run wild, consuming with-
out check or balance. The landscape has changed completely.
There is a point at which we must say, We brought this
on ourselves. There is a point at which the needle passes
through the sun and tips over, heated past safety. There is
annihilation, which we should have planned for sooner.
Tell us again about the pale mush you had to tread.
Tell us again about the white slush blurring sea and sky.
Can you see the fractures? Can you see the fragmenting?
The landscape cracks and splinters before us
and the question becomes: what can I do? One small star in a sea
of lights, clutching at straws—letting go. I don’t know.
All I can see is one by one, the stars
are going
out.
Gretchen Rockwell is a queer poet currently living in Pennsylvania. Xe is the author of the microchapbooks love songs for godzilla (Kissing Dynamite, 2020) and Thanatology (Ghost City Press, 2020); xer work has appeared in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Poet Lore, FOLIO, FreezeRay Poetry, Moonchild Magazine, and elsewhere. Gretchen enjoys writing poetry about gender and sexuality, history, myth, science, space, and unusual connections – find xer at www.gretchenrockwell.com or on Twitter at @daft_rockwell.