Micaela Blei

CONSTELLATION

by Micaela Blei

NOTE: I wrote the first version of this poem in 2001, revised it in 2019, and then revised again this year. This poem is my emotional timestamp.

Things I like about space:

The distance. The quiet. 

The stories being told about the stars, and the stars don’t even know.

Me? Under lights I’m constellate. 

I trick the eye. I seem so close. 

I chalk lines between my several selves.

And after, in the dark... I lie on my back, I watch the sky,

idly name myself along the compass lines: 

North Hope. Southwest Weeping. 

No stories and no shapes, just burning.

Our stories all pretend to end. 

They’re echoed light from years ago. 

By now, those moments have exploded,

Gone to dust

Distributed to other stars.

But then sometimes 

despite my doubt:

my burning light 

might pulse without 

the telescope’s lean copper gaze. 

I think this on the good days.