Ben Cooper

Everything Before Us (Behind Us)

If the sun were to burn out, we wouldn’t
know for eight minutes. We would lie here, unaware

of the great rift shifting our course, letting us go, until
the light caught up and reminded us of our place

in the universe. Has it happened yet? I like to think the sun might
apologize, leaving us with some final dusk, soft or gentle

in its goodbye. Chances are, it would be quick.
Harsh. Dramatic. As it always seems

to be. We wouldn’t know, though—couldn’t care. It would be far too late
to even consider the hues or the dark. Ignorance

is the greatest confidence. I can feel the world spinning out
on its axis, but by the time it makes me dizzy—by the time

my neurons fire and catch the notion—I’m fifteen
hundred feet away, ripping through some senseless, unknown

corner of space and time, circling a sun that might not even be
there. We’re here, but soon we won’t be. Don’t you feel

it? We’re not where we used to be. So stay with me and feel
us here—now—before we get carried away. We may only have eight minutes.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Ben Cooper is an undergraduate student studying both creative writing and philosophy at Salisbury University. His work has appeared in Penn Review. He is also an assistant editor at Poet Lore. His poetry aims to provoke deep thought and reflection from his audience, exploring the absurdities of life, the mysteries of faith and the necessity of hope.