“We have stardust in us as old as the universe ...”
Four elements comprise the universe,
particles of which reside within my body.
Hydrogen swims in the frothy reservoir
of my aqueous humor.
Carbon’s inhale, exhale
of cellular respiration.
Nitrogen, fixer and seducer
of hormonal synapses.
Oxygen. Here, in my fingertips.
Mighty Jupiter burrows
as chi between the creviced
burrows of every toe on each foot.
Rocks and meteors,
comets and asteroids —
a microscopic coating of crushed dust
inside my cerebellum
no brainer.
Or just another black hole?
Crumbling cosmos —
yielding, folding
stretching, expanding —
far-flung molecules
leached into
a sea of galaxies,
our human bodies
insignificant
way-stations
or celestial transports
after our own stars
have faded from view?
Julie Allyn Johnson, a sawyer’s daughter from north central Iowa, began writing poetry after her retirement from IT work in 2017. She loves hiking, gravel-travel photography, riding bikes, altered books and collage, reading and writing poetry and exploring trails in the Rocky Mountains. Her work has been (or soon will be) published in Lyrical Iowa, Persephone’s Daughters, Typishly, The Esthetic Apostle, Chestnut Review, SPLASH!, The Loch Raven Review, Better Than Starbucks, Typehouse Literary Magazine, Into the Void, Poetry and Covid, Coffin Bell, Kitchen Sink Magazine and The Briar Cliff Review.