Mar 162014

by A. Anupama


Carbon waits in air

to melt in dark’s fire,

sliced by cosmic radiation

into beryllium,

in the daylit sky.


Beryl, this sky tastes like rain,

lavender and lime.

Drops of the first boiling dew.

Freeze a piece of the sun,

it becomes meteorite, and not sugar.


Light elements swallowed into ache of crystals

in earth’s boiling interior yield stems of fluted emerald,

tourmaline dusk, and cryptic lithium—

magma’s last dark blooms.

But beryllium has trilled herself before, in stars.


Red giants spit carbon only after

the split second isotope of her skirt.

Meteorite is grandfather to all rocks

except her, daughter of space rain

and rage of dying stars.


Magnesium set in a fine ring of nitrogen,

is chlorophyll, O emerald gem of earth—


catches sun

and splits water into her sisters, air and fire.

Catches carbon

and blooms with sugar.