Because the Stars Can Hold Hands

Because the Stars Can Hold Hands
by Chris Biles

We have hit the universe.
The Big Bang came again,
but this time in reverse.
We took off in an incomplete
rocket ship, protected,
but headed in directions unknown
– so fucking vulnerable.
We took off heading up up and away,
but now we plummet,
downwards, sideways, end
over end, spotless minds
left behind.

And while we can slowly
turn our backs to the sun,
as apparently certain as the most
solid planet, the sunshine
is eternal, and there is no escape
from the blinding reminder
in the light.

We have hit the universe.
What once was dust now lingers,
swirling in our heads, figures
of the forgotten resurrected.
Because there is always
more than one giant rock
in a belt of asteroids.
Because the thing about belts
is they tighten, around waist,
around throat,
around helpless
minds.
Because we fly solo,
and our peripheral can only
take so much.

There’s a reason we stand at night
gazing at the dark swath, the scattered
stars, with jaws slightly dropped:
It’s terrifying.
We’re just one more speck, lost
in that black wasteland,
one more dot floating, circling,
hanging.

But at the same time, we’re not lost.

Because the stars can hold hands.
Because the turning of the planets
is just a slow dance among friends.
Because the sunshine is eternal,
but doesn’t always blind us.
Without that light,
there would be no moon, no reflection
of ourselves, just as alone,
to gaze down at us when we need
a breath of fresh air.

We can find some gravity
on our directionless journey.
We have hit the universe,
but the sunshine is eternal,
so the moon can always return
up above, waiting for us
with a smile
if it’s not too full.

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