First Light
after the Webb discovery
The newest moon they found around Uranus
is so small it fits inside
a sentence.
Ten kilometers across,
they think. A shimmer
between Ophelia and Bianca—
it doesn’t even pull at things.
Still, it’s there—
threaded on the same old dark.
I read this the same week
Mickey died. She was only ours
eleven months—not long enough
to unlearn flinching. She’d still sleep
under the table, even after
we moved the table.
They say the moon was always there,
just invisible. Too soft
for Voyager. Too faint for Hubble.
How many things love us
quietly? How many
never get seen
until a better eye looks?
The article showed no images—
only a plot of starlight interrupted
like breath paused
in grief. And a line drawn
where the absence
spoke.
I don’t think I believe
in heaven, but still I like
that the cold knows how
to hold a secret for a long time
without
breaking it.
by Sushanta Basumatary
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