Posts Tagged ‘stars’

Leaning into the vastness
of the star drunk sky,
my heart a vehicle,
to my surprise
I heard a small click,
like the sound of a car door
and your voice,
Mom, hop in.
Let’s take a spin.

I startle, as if
waking from a dream,
heart pounding,
astonished to find you
in the driver’s seat
as you love to be, and me
just one yes away
from a joy ride
through the universe,
if only I can find
the door.

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I had imagined we’d see dozens of meteors

   streaming across the sky, streaking,

      flaming, impossibly bright.

         Instead, I lay on the driveway

between my son and daughter

   and we stared into the night,

      laughing and singing and listening

         to the sound of the earth turning,

the pavement hard beneath us—

   and above us, the whole

      starry firmament unfolding.

         Not one shooting star did we see, no, but oh,

how the milky way swirled all around us,

   our eyes wide open, my heart soaring, swarming,

      a small piece of matter burning up,

         glowing, impossibly bright,

never quite touching the earth.

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asked to rate my satisfaction

from one to five stars—

trying to submit the milky way

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One Wheeling

watching the comet

I, too, hurtle through the stars—

disappear beyond the horizon

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letting the stars name me

after them—

unpronounceable things happen


building a throne

out of meadowlark song—

kingdom with no borders


holding hands with the sun

wishing it would go

to second base

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One Infinite Night Stand



the night unzips

its long black dress—

a million stars slip out

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In China they call the Milky Way

the silver river, and tonight

at the top of the drive I launch

my starry canoe into swirl of it.

I notice I forgot a map. I notice

there’s more song out here

than I thought there’d be.

No edge in sight.

Please, you come, too?

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The miracle cannot be separated from the mess.
—Teddy Macker, “Christmas Morning”

Every time I connect the dots
I get it wrong. It never turns out
to be an image of a tree or a cat

or a happy woman. Always a mess,
lines scratched and scrabbled
and crisscrossed. And always

I wonder if someone else could
get it right? Could make a coherent
picture by connecting the facts instead

of this jumbled thatch of misdrawn
links and errant nexuses.
Oh this strange longing to get

it right. This urge to make sense
of separate points. There are nights
I stand beneath the moonless sky

and realize I don’t know how
to constellate the stars in the ancient ways.
And instead of trying to draw

the lines, I simply look at the stars
and notice how beautiful they are,
how unfathomable the space

that holds them, that holds
the woman staring at the stars,
holds even her longing to get it right.

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Remembering to Look Up

Night unbuttons its coat
and all those stars fall out—
I feel no need
to name them
nor order them
nor to measure their distance,
to calculate their age.
I still cannot find
the lines that others use
to link one to another,
but sometimes I sense
the invisible ladders
that link the stars
to you, to me.

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Let’s Not Give It a Name

dusting off all these
stars we’ve forgotten
to wish on, surprised
to find a new

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