Susan H. Case

You never promised me the green cheese moon
or even a New York apartment with space
and light and I’ve been fine with that.
But, now what about a just sighted
ten billion trillion trillion carat diamond
in the constellation Centaurus? My birthday’s
coming up. I know three hundred trillion miles
is far for shopping, but BPM 37093—doesn’t that
refer to a zip code in North Carolina?
And it’s kind of heavy for my finger.
Still, what a chunk of sparkle!

They say it requires a jeweler’s loupe the size
of the sun, this white dwarf, core of dead star.
You’ve been thinking hard about a gift.

Haven’t you?

No time now for subtle hints.
Let me be direct:


Definitely the one. I’ll never worry
about whose rock is bigger again.
You’ll never have to buy me another thing.
Just figure out a way to have it shipped.

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