He had a pair of arsonist’s hands

but pretended the smell was a cigar,

unlit between blackening lips.

You know as little as you show,

I think.

 

Galileo’s ghost, we mused,

there’s something rare in the sky tonight.

Maybe a reflection of something on this earth–

an illusion of the inner eye–

or could it be fear out there,

do you smell it?

 

I wish I could live in those memories

not worth remembering,

trails of things I used to know and strangers–

there’s something about that face

but I must be making it up

how little do I really know.

 

Galileo’s ghost, he said,

some things are just figments

surely that’s one of them.

What else would hang in the sky

but what our mind has made for us,

I can’t see well with my vision

but surely I can see

this.

 

Galileo’s ghost, I said,

did you do this to us?

Zoya Gurm is a student at the University of Michigan studying English language and Literature and biomolecular science. Her works have been featured in Nowhere Magazine, Control Lit Magazine, The Michigan Daily, and various anthologies, including the Cafe Shapiro Anthology and Reading Series in 2017. She is the recipient of two Hopwood awards.  

 

GALILEO'S GHOST

Zoya Gurm

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Poetry

February 2018

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