by Shay Vera-Cruz

It has a sound: the wide solitude of gravity

               in the breath between one star &

                             the next.

imagine suns,                   scarce

              inches apart.

                             & still possessed by



                             summer frosted diamond &



                             rain rising up,

                             instead of falling.

The patience

              of storms like waiting giants.


When it rains                 Atlas bites his tongue

              as the sky dares to buckles under

                            its own weight & he

wonders if this

                                          is what he must

                                                        sustain for.


It has a sound: a heavy hand in the dark,

                            trees falling in counterpoint—


                            the space between a body &

                                          its elements;

between a thing &


                                                      How absence

is its own kind of silence & how

                            the night can sink so dark &


it becomes something

                           you have to carry.

The Poor Print

The Poor Print is Oriel College's student newspaper, with contributions from across the JCR, MCR, SCR, and staff. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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