Life Cycle of a Star
I remember that night
in October 1995, us standing
in the Deep Eddy Bar parking
lot, you pressing my hand between
yours. I see us both from a third
perspective, as if I were a small
star squeezed in the sky corner
and wondering what would happen to us.
We dated, mated, fell apart.
I was satisfied but couldn't
become. Stars change
in size and pressure to burn
new fuel. Now I must be protostar,
making shape from a nebulous past.
I left your orbit long ago, and I think
about that hand press too often. What kept
me there? That ridiculous shine in your eyes:
This is your metaphor, and I never
meant to darken it. Glow on.
in October 1995, us standing
in the Deep Eddy Bar parking
lot, you pressing my hand between
yours. I see us both from a third
perspective, as if I were a small
star squeezed in the sky corner
and wondering what would happen to us.
We dated, mated, fell apart.
I was satisfied but couldn't
become. Stars change
in size and pressure to burn
new fuel. Now I must be protostar,
making shape from a nebulous past.
I left your orbit long ago, and I think
about that hand press too often. What kept
me there? That ridiculous shine in your eyes:
This is your metaphor, and I never
meant to darken it. Glow on.
posted by angela buckley at 9:02 PM
2 Comments:
Beautiful!
Hi, "the" max. Thanks for reading this poem. Maybe you liked it because the "third perspective" is sort of like a camera.
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