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  • Samantha Hoch

History of the Center of the Universe

Updated: Nov 7, 2019

after "Bars Poetica" by Hicok

This is the story I’ve been trying to tell.

Man and Woman are driving.

What I mean is, Woman is driving. Man is riding.

Woman is always driving, and Man, just along for the ride.

Freeloading space rock hitches a slingshot ride on the atmosphere of Earth,

It will not propel itself.

The moon rides the coat tails of Earth.

Earth is precious; the most extreme rarity in all of existence.

The moon should get a job.

Or a passion for philmoonthropy. The moon should want more for itself.

Like a name, and some pronouns. Or at least to experience other galaxies.

What I mean is this:

Woman is the house. Woman is the daylight. Woman is the saddled donkey.

Saddle bags filled with moons.

Sun rise, carry, step, carry, struggle, sweat. Sunset.

Earth is exhausted. The sun is always rising and setting.

If the moon wants to stay, it should take the wheel. Because

saddle bags filled with moons are heavy, is all I’ve been trying to say

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