for the Single Parent
When I heard that no light escapes the surface of a black hole
I thought of the continual gravity pulling from the widening void
of an absentee parent—lightyears away, yet inescapable
even after everything implodes. You, the single parent,
the demand for your presence perpetually expanding—
The you, the Universe. All your child knows is that you are
everywhere at once—filling the spaces between their sheet
and cheek, between the fall and rise of their days,
and between the pacifier and their marriage. Like a voyage
through stars, I’m romanticizing this. After all, there are so many fevers
without sick leave, missed appointments, dinners for one split in two. Mostly,
it is a weight measured in psi, tears, and guilt—the unseen;
this mundane packing of lunch, laundry, or weekend plans
for the dual-income-without-kids crowd it is an inconvenience
to address in their free time, but will swing for you towards chaos,
instability when out of bread, detergent, or babysitter. Though chaos is
energy and the possibility of change, while order hides
withering fixities—unchanging and permanent, like the Sun
and Moon. Though, I hear the Moon is slowly moving away from the Earth,
its gravity weakening, yet still reflecting on us so not to be lost
in darkness. This celestial body, ceaselessly giving nutrients, hope—you,
a light I refuse to escape.