Photo by Sylvia Kniss
Burnt Corneas
by: Jake Price
During the eclipse,
I look to see if the sun has
veins. The moon crosses paths
slowly and the birds chirp in
confused tones. Is it night already?
I sit outside on a blanket
with two pairs of sunglasses
and look directly into the oculus.
It’s like all of those times as a kid,
when I threw rocks as high up as I could
thinking they would make contact,
finally came true.
I did it. I punctured the sun
like a balloon. I popped it.
I am Helios, and I hold the leash that
bounds that red giant.
If the earth is consumed and
everything I’ve ever known
is burned to nothing, at least
the birds won’t be confused anymore.