Some night I will watch the stars.
I've been meaning to, I promise.
I will suffer in the cold
For a few minutes
Knowing that a single glimpse of them,
Is blanket enough.

I know the stars, I know their names.
I know their shapes - jagged Cassiopeia, famous Ursa major.
Our ancestors cut pieces from the sky and
Passed them down to us through songs and words
Who are we to not appreciate their gifts?
Sometimes I'm glad that there is something
That we all share.
War and conflict cannot fog their steady gaze upon us.
There is something in that cold undying love
In their constant vigil
That to share is love enough, a palm pressed to a stranger's chest, long dead, above his heart.
Because you know where it is,
Because yours is the same.

My people, your people, we gave them earthly names
As token, in thanks for all the light
They have given us.
I know all this I know the stars I know what we would be without them and yet and yet-
I have not once set foot outside into the heavy dark
When day's blue curtain has been drawn
And the theatre of the heavens can begin.

I know their tunes, I can recite the lines in pallid verse
But never have I heard their song with mine own ears.
When the day comes I shall I will prostrate myself
And weep my apologies in tumbling verse
I kept my promise. I will say. I kept it, I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long.
And the stars will say nothing of this,
They will merely keep silent watch over my sorry form
Like they have done for all of us, for centuries.
My apology is not for them, not really.
It is for me, for not allowing myself the sweet transcendence
That their celestial dance provides.
That night I will have new eyes.

So some night I will watch the stars,
and pick out golden faces I would trace upon my skin at night
Their shape etched deep within me as mine own face will be in some future star gazer's.
If only learned through stories and not a mirror light.

But not tonight. Tonight I shut those old eyes of mine.
And as sleep slips over me like wine I know in time
That that night will come.
For now I settle gentle into that sweet dark,
whose hands rock me like a mother
Who does not have to see her daughter's face to love her.


© Leila Kadar