by Hannah Pickering
Child: Small hands, wondrous mind, bright eyed and staring in amazement at the stars. Decides then that all they want when they’re older is to be among them.
Bigger hands, mind not so wondrous as it once was, eyes dulled around
the edges, losing the enchanted glow.
Times changed, life’s gotten harder, reality bearing down on them to grow their roots inside the box instead of outside it.
Their eyes still sometimes glance to the sky thinking if they can one day find themselves among the stars when they’re older.
Grown hands, mind has been shut down but reborn and rewired, eyes are
tired and rarely glow now.
Life’s brought them to where they are, different path then they’d imagined, roots confined in one place.
They sit on the porch in the dead of night, gazes directed to the billions of twinkling lights and one murmurs, “I always wanted to be among the stars…but I could never quite reach them.” There’s a moment of silence followed by a gentle hum, hands outstretched as if to touch the stars in the sky, and the other replies,
“If you can’t get to the stars yourself, creating your own will work just fine.”