I'm Adelimo, and this is the slowdown.

Today's long and stunning poem is a meditation on finding a little light when light doesn't

seem possible.

The extravagant stars by Nicole Callahan.

Everybody says the stars are dead.

By the time the light reaches us, blah, blah, blah, as if the light itself is not enough.

Or maybe everybody says most stars are dead.

Or some of the people say all the stars are dead and all of the people say some of the

stars are dead.

Is this undead?

I don't know.

I can't remember.

One in two women can't remember one in two things.

I have all these facts in my head.

These claims about the world, caterpillars, supernovas, the days getting shorter, longer

again, the riverbed, our great confluence, the buzz of that particular fly.

Did you ever get my postcard from Mexico?

Mostly I write the same word over and over, and mostly that word is light.

I keep saying it seems very unlikely that this will kill me.

But why unlikely?

Medically speaking, you have a one in 500 chance of being born with 11 fingers or toes.

I had a student once without thumbs.

...