Black Birth

Last sundown,
roundabout midway,
between yesterday
and the night,
She entered my room,
subtle, cat-like,
as usual;
And handed me,
as abruptly
as a sneeze ,
A saucerful of metaphors,
with a question.

Who would you rather be?
said She,
A mirror, that bounces
the light you throw,
Or
A blackhole,
that eats it up
and doesn't let go.

I’d rather be,
said I,
A Black Whole.