Yellow Mama E zine

A Part

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by Craig Kirchner

 

I am a part and becoming exhausted at the nothing

being done by this part three quarters of a century in,

non-speaking cameo at the window. I’ll be cancelled.

There are 7.9 billion people, approximately

16,000 are born every hour and about 7,000 die,

the whole keeps getting bigger, my part keeps getting

older, and a thinner slice of the context of the thing.

On the beach 180 degrees of water to the horizon.

backed up by 4000 miles of wet mass to Casablanca.

And grains of sand on this beach alone, inconceivable.

The James Webb telescope enhances the enormity

of the universe, of 2 trillion galaxies—our galaxy,

the Milky Way has over 200 billion stars.

We think of ourselves as small but important parts,

doing our important moving around, worshipping

our God, the only God, and his son, the son of God.

There are an estimated 20 sextillion planets, don’t

know what a sextillion is—all unfathomable.

Where there is water there is almost always life,

odds are, Earth doesn’t have the only water.

Where there is thinking life there are Gods, a God.

 A someone sitting, looking out of the skylight,

expressing a desire to know God, worshipping,

waiting, perhaps longing for the son of God.

Vexed by mortality, the small part they play,

estimating drops of water, grains of sand,

sure that this universe is theirs, theirs alone.

Curious if there are any other living beings out there,

contemplating the vastness, water, a heaven, hell

and wondering if the post will be bringing a pink slip.

 

 

     Craig Kirchner lives in Jacksonville, Florida, loves the aesthetics of writing, has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels, and has been nominated three times for a Pushcart. Craig's writing has been published in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, Yellow Mama, The Modern Artist, and dozens and dozens of others. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems on a laptop; these words help keep him straight. Craig can be found on Bluesky.

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     Image Credit: A pair of radio telescopes at the Tamke Allan Observatory (Rockwood, Tennessee) are like stethoscopes used to sense the pulse of the universe. Most of what we know about the universe comes from radioastronomy. The specks of light on a radio map of the universe are galaxies! Photography and photo art by John C. Mannone.

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     John C. Mannone is a scientist, poet, CNF essayist, fiction writer, and poetry editor who creates derivative visual art and photo art for speculative poems in Abyss & Apex, Silver Blade (on hiatus), and ADR Poetry (defunct). His photography/art appears or is forthcoming on the anthology cover of the 2026 Tennessee Voices and inside Chattanooga Writers Guild anthologies. He currently serves on the artists staff of Yellow Mama Literary Magazine. His literary work appears widely in Artemis, Critical Humanities, The New England Journal of Medicine, and others. He’s the Poet Laureate for the City of Oak Ridge, TN (2026-2028).

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