Demon Core
by Gabrielle N. Henry

It’s not like

a pressurized gas canister

or a shaken-up

can of light beer.

It doesn’t boil or bubble

or burn

or breathe

or sigh into steam.

This place is not a place of honor.

It moves slowly

like the half-life

 of one gram

of uranium-235.

Like the growl of fission

deep within the earth

as it formed

and then melted.

No highly esteemed deed is commemorated here.

If I could

I would melt

I would burn up

into something unknowable.

My core mass

would reach critical

but no one would heed

the warning.

We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.