by aral l.
each born with a sun attached—
sometimes beneath the ribs, sometimes
within the very pulsing organ itself,
sometimes settled on the shoulder
to shine generously on more than one—
they are all their own quiet planet,
but there is no mourning in the solitude.
so far from alone that the word
may not exist at all, negotiations
of warmth are redundant and arteries
carry light as rivers carry water.
gardens flower between the bones,
in twists of muscle, wilt and
sprout anew in cycles of the
beating heart. the suns reach out
with a million invisible fingers,
pour themselves shining
into every other star they touch
until one sun glowing above a left
eyebrow, at the corner of a crooked
mouth, in the pit of a throat,
is a galaxy, a universe, an
infinity.
ARAL is a 20-year-old latinx poet living and studying in Canada who has dreamed of being a writer since young. They often write about body, love, and grief. They are interested in writing as healing, and art as all things human. They like the sky, skateboarding, and crocheting sweaters for their loved ones.
the discoveries of adjusting opacity can be found in Augur Magazine Issue 4.2.
