Poem: Upset

 

Upset

 

wind herded fat clouds,

but the stars bit their white virtue away.

was that the prize for my patience,

these glinting caltrops

that wouldn’t let anything pass?

 

could a way out of my pain

lounge behind the stars?

i would never know.

perhaps because the clouds regrouped

to close like a jawbone over Cygnus.

but it was more than that...

i thought about the old myths of love,

how unsuitable they were for the stars.

how deranged we were, us humans,

to co-opt the sidereal armature

as a drape for our fancy delusions.

 

no wonder

the constellations tasted so cold.

it was hard to listen

to a  strung-out Olympus. 

and so i turned away,

not wanting to be lessoned

by a projection of my own hopeful fears,

something that pretended to perch--

 

up there, somewhere …

 

if the stars hid a secret

they wouldn’t reveal that gift.

why?  too many times

they’d seen us revel in crimson,

too often seen us guzzle down what we can get,

turning wine into greed into hate.

 

no.

 

the stars are not so foolish as us.

They glare, little auras bristling,

and will not be our guardians.

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