The Starfarer's Wife
by Jessica Cho
As children, we lay on banks of green grass
and watched the stars,
knowing nothing of guile.
You told me you would one day reach them
and I laughed, thinking it nothing
but a childish game.
We grew together and I grew into myself,
until, when next we spoke of stars,
you kissed me, sitting on the autumn bank,
the taste of red bean cake
still sweet on my lips.
In that moment, I became aware of a sky
so vast, it could bury us.
When your dream at last was realised,
I saw you to your ship,
sleek and sharp,
a steel-boned marten with a pelt of glass.
I watched with eyes rimmed red
as you became a speck of brightness
in a sky already crammed to death with light.
Now, two years have passed and I carry my grief
like a stone, heavy and low.
I scour newsfeeds, watch the stars, waiting
for mention of your name.
I sit at banks of yellow clay,
wishing I could be be as malleable,
as muddied, swirling in the rushing water
like two small children
who knew nothing of guile.
I wonder if the ship sang your death-song
so that you did not die alone,
or if your gwisin wanders the cold of aether
with no flowing river to point your way,
seeking paths alone
among the unfamiliar stars.
If you have found your peace
beside the bodies of divinity,
then I shall clear the grasses of the bank
and wait no more.
But failing that, my love,
please send me note of your passing
on the back of light from stars long dead
and I will call your name three times
to bring you home.