Issue 19




Why I Disagree with Olber’s Paradox:


Lauren Marie Cappello





And then there are stars, that go unnoticed when the lights are


and many kinds of oceans, latent


in the subway,

the kitchen,

the stair-



the precipice upon which one thing,

leads to another.


Breaking waves upon bellies,

an Orion’s belt of leaves,

from plants promised

a certain demise

on windowsills,

curious over things to know

of the dark.


Observant despite amber

tinted light, lending skin

a gegenschein glow, a starry

particle smooth that


borrowed the heavens from valleys

of vintage corduroy.


Plants search the

stars to sway them, to

tear the sky from cotton,

hands, uncertain in their holding

its lightness,

the texture of a pear,

the tip of my tongue.

Harboring the sky, born

out of a wanton melody


from within viridian skin.

A stomach, full

of constellations.

A dripping wet


an open umbrella, a

puddle used in secret to

reflect tenthousandyearoldlight


to me, sitting on kitchen counters,

to you, in winged steel boxes, carrying

across breezes, over

miles of farmland that have

never tasted the saltiness of

craving a coastline

when licking their dry

lips, to

other kinds

of oceans.


Memory dim behind reason, casting strange shapes

across faces, exaggerating curves of

cheeks, a distinguished nose, hesitant-


A shadow, too, can be afraid

of itself.


And then there are lights, that go unnoticed when the stars are


and many kinds of oceans from the same raindrops.


Sipping wine

from jars, toasting every point

above the surface

of a star, not to finite time,



                       from these moments,


                                                                        a horizon.










Lauren Marie Cappello has work in E·ratio 15 and in E·ratio 16.  “Why I Disagree with Olber’s Paradox:” first appeared in the print anthology, Gape-Seed (Uphook Press, 2011). 



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