we wake up to millions of stars around us &
it tastes like home, this eerie yet familiar place.
we take our fingers & drag them through milky
pools of starlight & feel like some sort of goddess
except goddesses don’t drive battered Jeeps
down time-worn paths. far off in the distance
a light clenches & unclenches like a fist. in the
distance a hand seems to be reaching out to
grab on to the nearest star, light if not to call it attraction,
gas if not to call it rebirth. a star is born & a star dies.
& another screams your name. & another screams
your mother’s name. & another peels plastic wrapping
off the blackness. when the blackness is naked,
we think about galaxies & non-galaxies,
the reals & unreals; which is which,
it’s hard to tell. a meteor burning like sin passes above
our heads, leaving a trail of unrequited pasts & blanks.
we might not know much about the universe—
relativity or string theory, love or loss—
but we can understand this definition of infinity:
minds ricocheting forever off the walls of the unknown.
Cindy Song is a high school junior at Richard Montgomery High School. Her poetry has recently been published in CICADA Magazine, TRACK//FOUR, National Poetry Quarterly, and The Rising Phoenix Review. She has also been recognized by the Bethesda Urban Partnership, Hollins University, and the Reflections program. When not writing, Cindy likes taking walks and listening to music.