I was a child who wanted to be a star.

Not the kind clothed
in leather, and ego,
and a sheen of hope;
not clouded with drugs,
or drink,
or heady, anonymous sex.

No.
Not that kind.

I wanted to shine,
clear and cold,
breathless in the deep sky,
high above the pollution,
the sirens,
the crying in the night.

I longed to be the star
some lonely girl
would wish upon,
the beacon to sailors
to lead them home from the sea.

I wanted to be bright
and sharp,
to sing and pulse
with power,
contained and deadly,
a sign post,
a warning,
a promise.

I’m grown, now,
and content with this heavy clay
I wear,
used to the gravity
pulling me down
to earth.
I’ve seen stars fade,
and die,
extinguished
in a flash,
or drowned slowly
without notice taken.

Now, at night,
I wander out into
my tiny concrete garden,
here in the City That Care Forgot,
in my own bubble
of stillness,
broken only
by the wind in the trees,
the sound of music in the distance,
voices on the breeze.

And I look up.

I look into the cloud lit sky,
past the power lines,
past the street lights,
searching for elusive stars.

I see them
behind the heat haze,
pale, but still bright,
so far away and still,
as the ground turns
beneath me,
carrying me past
those familiar constellations,
spinning towards
morning.

A part of me still yearns,
still reaches up
with greedy hands,
grasping for that
enigmatic light.

These days, though,
when I reach for the stars,
I’m stretching out my arms
to all of those people,
in their own little bubbles,
scattered across the planet,
who are also
looking up,
wishing, maybe,
for a connection,
to be part of their own
constellation.

Because I know, now,
that we are all stars.
We all guide and shine.

We are the beacons
others wish upon,
as our wishes
whisper like a breeze
through each others hair.

We are all connected.

We are all so much bigger,
so much brighter,
than this flesh we wear.

When you wish upon a star
tonight,
I will feel it.

When I wish,
you will know
I am thinking of you.

We are the stars
and the wishers,
the beacon
and the sailor longing
for shore.

We are mystery, and light,
and part of a web that stretches
all across the visible sky.

I look up, tonight,
and I say “You are not alone.”

And I hope that somehow
that girl I was
will hear,
and remember,
and shine.

About the author: Gwyndyn Alexander is a feminist, activist poet. She lives in New Orleans with her husband Jonathan. They share their home with two rescue cats, Scout and SpyBoy. When not writing, Gwyndyn creates fabulous masks and headpieces. Her motto is “Be the parade you want to see in the world!”

Twitter: @GwynTAlexander. Facebook: Gwyndyn Alexander. Email: idiomagic@gmail.com. Etsy: MardiGoth

Photo by Tomáš Malík