My Next Supernova

a poem about Betelgeuse, a star which may be fading…

Gaëtan Othenin-Girard / Unsplash (edited) not Betelgeuse, but a nebula from some other (exploded) star, captured by telescope and a defiltered camera. I chose it as it looked like a painting by Odilon Redon.

Bright star,
your measure still mysterious,
existing far beyond
the reach of imagination,
a runaway
from Orion’s pack,
we’ve noticed you
since the year dot,
pulsing high,
always one to watch,
supreme wastrel of the night sky,
primadonna in disguise,
belting it all out
as the countdown begins,
your demise
exquisitely incremental,
each drop in celestial kilowatt
a stately recitative
on cosmic folly.

*

Yet despite
your fading powers,
you still keep us guessing
on wintry nights
as to exactly when
you will retire
from that starry amphitheatre,
as years from hence
we adjust our powerful lens,
hoping to capture
that fabled spectacular
of gas and debris
because naturally,
we all hunger to be the last
in living memory
to gaze on your remnants,
and browse the petrified beauty
of distant catastrophe.

**