I climb roofs and lay on the rough tiles to be closer to the celestial display that holds my dreams. From a young girl running away from wrongs done to her poor small body, to a woman embracing her sexuality, to a lost redhead searching for where her hopes went. The answer has always been the stars.
Clouds shapeshifting as I whispered goodbyes to shooting stars that carry my dead away. Fog moving through as my nipples harden as he presses me into the unforgiving bark on the walk home that first night. Clear nights in the Vegas desert when promises of happy ever after were made. Inky black evenings of my youth bobbing on gulfs and seas as I lay in sails and played remember when.
The night I lost my virginity
At the end of a sidewalk in New Orleans
Singing the high notes of a U2 song
The top of a bus in Africa
As I lay dying in Haiti
On a dock in Belize
Faithful to cheating, living and dying… the stars have seen me.
They are my timekeeper. Reminding me of how brief it really all is. They mock me, knowing all of the inappropriate caresses I crave. They keep my secrets better than a best friend. They heal my shame of all that was done to me. They encourage me to dare and live life on my terms. When they hide behind clouds I wait them out, anxious to succumb to the serenity I find under their soft glow.
In Starlight’s embrace, I find beauty in my body, scars and flaws hidden in their forgivingly cast shadows. I become starstruck once again, heady in the mystery of the quiet… of the hours before the dawn. I remember her lips on mine, aware that we were crossing a line I couldn’t come back from. She whispered to me that I was fire and to burn her. And the flame that he had blown out, burned, until the sun matched it and cloaked the stars for another day. And him, I remember the pinpoints in our eyes as we were running down the levee at 3am on his 30th birthday shouting … We are King and Queen of the river….. Hold back the dawn I said at 23, as the pink orange ate the night and my tears drowned me.. .
The stars are the church, music my choir and the wise moon is proselytizing, gathering the sea to rise in acknowledgement. It’s message fills me with a pretty little rebellion. My heart pushes out the moment of give up, embraces the grief and twists it. In that moment I can feel a dozen lips touch mine. Whisperlight fingertips on my breast and a strong hand in my mane of hidden sunshine. They whisper to me to put on my boots again and run. They coax the memories, they heal the mourning wails, they paint stripes in my hair and dust my skin with silver.
The stars let me love you and know I am going to lose you with every sunrise.