It is the first cold night of Autumn
and I smoke a cigarette to myself
looking up to the sky;
you can’t see many stars from the city
but you can see Belasis and Hastur,
the new constellations.
When they first appeared
two weeks ago,
no one knew what to do
but crane their necks upward to see,
everyone asking the same questions.
Even during the day
you can feel the weight of them
hovering above us, waiting.
No one showed up at work
but the administrator and me,
a lot of places are closed
but the bars are all open
and in every joint it’s the same thing.
A TV on mute,
some harried looking news anchor
mouthing the words:
No idea as of yet…
No one seems to be able to explain…
We will keep you updated as…
After a few beers I dial my ex,
who sounds scared
so I offer to come over,
but she says she’s fine
that she has it under control.
Shots.
The girls at the bar,
they seem scared too,
but the words
get caught in my mouth
and all they want to talk about
is the sky.
Alone now with another beer
then another and at midnight,
birthday drinks,
one for me and one for
Belasis and Hastur.
Outside,
it’s starting to rain,
the sky coming down
dark and close,
but I can still sense them,
up there watching
and I imagine
I can feel their pull,
tugging me gently across
the vastness of space.
Gently, I ask what they are
but the only answer I receive
is thunder,
without any flash of light,
just a loud rumbling
cast down from the heavens.
Mack W Mani was born in rural Washington State. He currently lives in Portland. His work has appeared in The Pedestal Magazine and The Non-Binary Review.