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Rebecca Elson was a Canadian-American poet and astronomer. In the 1990s she was among the first researchers to study images. She passed away at age 39. "A Responsibility to Awe," was published posthumously. It is a volume of Elson's poetry and essays, ranging from her teenage years until shortly before her passing. What follows is, "Antidotes to Fear of Death," a poem from this collection, in which Elson reckons with mortality, and lyrically explores our place in this vast cosmos.

Antidotes to Fear of Death — by Rebecca Elson

Sometimes as an antidote
To fear of death,
I eat the stars.

Those nights, lying on my back,
I suck them from the quenching dark
Til they are all, all inside me,
Pepper hot and sharp.

Sometimes, instead, I stir myself
Into a universe still young,
Still warm as blood:

No outer space, just space,
The light of all the not yet stars
Drifting like a bright mist,
And all of us, and everything
Already there
But unconstrained by form.

And sometime it’s enough
To lie down here on earth
Beside our long ancestral bones:

To walk across the cobble fields
Of our discarded skulls,
Each like a treasure, like a chrysalis,
Thinking: whatever left these husks
Flew off on bright wings.

The last phrases really got to me and hit home...

"To walk across the cobble fields
Of our discarded skulls,
Each like a treasure, like a chrysalis,
Thinking: whatever left these husks
Flew off on bright wings."


Thank you, Welles. The "inner imagery" this poem envisages is amazing.