I once found a ladder tall enough to crash through the atmosphere.
I climbed it until I could reach the tallest star of the big dipper, and I stole it out of the sky.
Then I swallowed it.
I could feel the star glowing all the way down my esophagus, and I never even stopped to worry that my stomach acids would devour its shine.
I know that my star found the secret cavern in the darkness of my body where the gum and the watermelon seeds hide.
I would say I was free but I still can't escape the moon's pull of the tides.
I'm still a slave to gravity and I couldn't divert my path from the north star if I tried.
Orion's belt may be big enough to hold us together
but I doubt it is tight enough to hold our pants up.
My star shines outside of my skeleton sometimes.
My light escapes through my throat when I sing sad songs by myself.
My light escapes through my eyes when I describe my best friend or my mother.
My light escapes through my pores when summer rain and soft words spoken with timid lips fall on my skin.
My grandparents have never spent a night separate from each others heartbeats.
This May will make 58 years.
My grandmother still cried when she told me the story of how she met my grandfather.
Some stars never burn out.
I'm offering you the lines on my palms, if you'd like I can show you:
My star shines outside of my skeleton sometimes.
