From a Star
The cardboard telescope stays home,
useless for catching the unlikely inkling
of lights predicted to shower.
Outside the city it's still bright enough
to see my niece’s face, shades of hope
and boredom as she fidgets for comfort
on the cars slippery hood.
She gripes about the lack of “meteors
or comets,” as if they’re the same,
a likely mistake considering our first
learned words about celestial behemoths
are diamond and twinkling. I talk to her
about Castor and Pollux but she’s lured
by the radio, a thump and wail that casually
winds down to a jaunty monologue they call
breaking news–people dismembered
when a zealot blows himself to martyrdom–
then a seamless segue to more indifferent pop.
At fifteen, my niece senses the media’s
crass disregard and gives me a sidelong glance.
I start to mention the meaning of the word disaster –
an influence on our life that proceeds from a star.
But instead, we talk about our country’s
chief exports; entertainment and weapons.
Slipstream Magazine, #42, 2022
The cardboard telescope stays home,
useless for catching the unlikely inkling
of lights predicted to shower.
Outside the city it's still bright enough
to see my niece’s face, shades of hope
and boredom as she fidgets for comfort
on the cars slippery hood.
She gripes about the lack of “meteors
or comets,” as if they’re the same,
a likely mistake considering our first
learned words about celestial behemoths
are diamond and twinkling. I talk to her
about Castor and Pollux but she’s lured
by the radio, a thump and wail that casually
winds down to a jaunty monologue they call
breaking news–people dismembered
when a zealot blows himself to martyrdom–
then a seamless segue to more indifferent pop.
At fifteen, my niece senses the media’s
crass disregard and gives me a sidelong glance.
I start to mention the meaning of the word disaster –
an influence on our life that proceeds from a star.
But instead, we talk about our country’s
chief exports; entertainment and weapons.
Slipstream Magazine, #42, 2022
