From Cassini to Saturn
by Matthew Herskovitz
Thirteen years in orbit is a long time
to get acquainted with tumult,
frozen gaseous turning
pulling me along.
It’s like physics
to bring things to an end—
I’ve done all I can for you.
Your impermanent rings, I suppose,
give us something in common,
a whole’s capacity to break
apart. Yours pulls debris,
the junk around burning through
collision the same way,
at some level, we all do
—the same way I’m doing now,
plunging. For such a cold place, love,
you’re warmer than the travel.
You take what comes, you welcome
shared forms: the end of me continues into us.
It makes me wonder,
when I turn around to Earth, how many subcommittees
have to break it apart piece by piece?
How many draft proposals and diagrams fly around
doomed garbage before someone else can see us both
for what we are? What figure
does it take to show how
the crash completes? That it’s a good thing
to be made
to break on you?
Matthew Herskovitz is a Jewish writer from Baltimore, Maryland. He is a graduate from the University of Maryland in College Park with plans to pursue an MFA in poetry. His works have been published in Interstellar Literary Review, New Note Poetry, Words & Whispers, The Shore, and Boats Against the Current.