by Rachel Trousdale
The Milky Way, like crumbs on top of a vast galette—studded with ripe planets, like figs— how you have enjoyed everything you taste; as you pass Alpha Centauri, please, find a radio signal sent to us by the sulphur beings of the horsehead nebula, and into their code add instructions for tasting this last bottle of the wine you left behind . . .
Rachel Trousdale is an associate professor of English at Framingham State University. Her poems have appeared in the Yale Review, the Nation, RHINO, and Diagram, among other places. Rachel is the author of the poetry chapbook, Antiphonal Fugue for Marx Brothers, Elephant, and Slide Trombone, and her latest critical book, The Joking Voice: Humor and Empathy in Twentieth-Century American Poetry, is forthcoming from Oxford University Press. Find Rachel on Twitter @rvtrousdale.