I am a hearth of spiders these days: a nest of trying.
This line, standing alone in its own stanza, almost seems out of place in the otherwise smooth description of the suburban outdoor setting. It creates a stark and thought-provoking juxtaposition of the speaker's own complex mental state with the descriptions of the trees, winter, and stars. Limón lets the reader do some of the work interpreting what this line might mean to us. A "hearth" implies home, domesticity, and caretaking. "Spiders" are an intriguing choice to pair with "hearth," implying that the speaker feels not just like one body but like a pulsing multitude of small creatures, or perhaps of varying impulses and energies. Spiders are also known for their delicate craftsmanship in making their "hearths," their beautiful webs. Together, "hearth of spiders" implies that, behind the scenes of this poem, Limón's speaker feels preoccupied with the minutiae of running a household and taking care of the home she shares with her husband.
The phrase "nest of trying" doubles this implication: "nest," like "hearth," implies caretaking, this time with a more explicit emphasis on mothering, and "trying" reinforces the nervous, dedicated energy of the spiders. In the context of this poem alone, the phrase after the colon simply echoes the meaning of the phrase before. However, it takes on extra significance in the context of The Carrying: one of the recurring themes in this book is Limón's infertility, adding poignancy to "nest." A poem titled "Trying" appears shortly before "Dead Stars" in the book and focuses more explicitly on the speaker's attempts to become pregnant. For the book as a composition, this line serves as a greater echo and tie-in to this theme of nervous effort and stymied motherhood. If we know this quiet struggle is taking place behind the scenes of "Dead Stars," it makes the poem's explosion into grandiose ambition that much more touching for its boldness.
Look, we are not unspectacular things.
Do a web search about "Dead Stars" and you'll find this line excerpted, quoted, and made into graphics more often than any other. It is a quiet yet bold statement that marks a dramatic turn in the poem, fully manifesting the mood shift that began four lines earlier with "But mostly we're forgetting that we're dead stars too." The second-person command "Look" demands the reader's attention, saying: Focus on what I am about to say. This is important. The startling second-person address is a technique Limón uses sparingly but to great effect, an example being her poem "The Leash": "Reader, I want to / say: Don't die." While the poem has already introduced the husband as "you," this line and the lines that follow quickly become much bigger than just two people. What follows is a litany of questions and propositions that become increasingly universal through the end of the poem. The words "Look, we" introduce a "we" that is all-inclusive of the reader and humanity at large.
The double negative "not unspectacular" is another intriguing choice. Literally, it just means "spectacular." However, it evokes humility and hesitation, acknowledging how hard it is to "reclaim the rising" and "[stop] being terrified." The double negative also has the effect of defying the rather unspectacular start to the poem: bowed trees, rolling out trash bins, a cold and tired scene. Limón's speaker seems to say that we are not limited by those images and feelings. Don't be confined by the exhaustion of the mundane, the poem says here; don't let yourself feel too small.
