Vacant Constellations
Haley Karin
At twelve I saw no beauty in well-lit adults
How they stargazed
next to their children
licking summer popsicles
down to splintered wood, knowing
that stars made of myth
and sheltered in science
could shine long after light leaves
It’s really for the best
they say,
I am happy with all this space
even though tears freeze
on their cheeks and
their laughter
doesn’t make
the right sound and
pane after pane the darkness drifts on
and on
inside the galaxies
of these ink-bled homes
hollow
and un-ending