The apparent displacement of an observed object
due to a change in the position of the observer.
The closer a thing is, the faster it moves
against a background—
highway fencing speeds against tree-line horizon,
slow stars edge across far constellations.
That's how Pluto was discovered,
the wink-wink back and forth,
a tiny point shifts here to there
between optical plates, a difference so small
at such great distances, but definite, real—
unlike the trick I learned as a girl,
holding my hand up to a tube and
looking in with both eyes open
to see the figment hole right through
the muscle, bone and ligament.
Perspective was friendly, then.
You and I move now with a nebula between us—
red-shifted, dense and singular—we degenerated,
the changes in position went unnoticed for years,
because we only looked with one eye,
each of us seeing only the other's apparent position
shining against a heaven
that turned dervishly beyond,
the figment of it,
when it was we, ourselves, who were lost
to spin and the tight wounds of outward motion,
cutting ourselves in half and signing papers
instead of simply opening
the other eye.
Samara's work has appeared or is forthcoming in Eyedrum Periodically, Anti-Heroin Chic, Eunoia Review, Plum Tree Tavern and others. She has two children, works in marketing and design, and will be completing her BA in poetry in 2018. More at www.samarawords.com.