when we are young
we ask our fathers
“what star is that, glowing so bright
just there in the sky?”
and we believe them
when they say “it’s not a star at all, darling,
that right there is venus”
we take all that implied love
and let it fill us up
let it raise our hearts and souls to the starlight
and make us warmer on cold, crisp winter nights
than blankets and firelight ever could.
now we are older
and the warmth of
bugs successfully caught, sheets tucked in around us,
stars identified and shadow-monsters dispelled,
is the only thing that sustains us
on the darkest, coldest winter nights.
now we are old
and yet we are infinitely young
adults staring out of car sunroofs,
yet tiny children cowering in our beds by the window,
one and the same, we look up at the stars
we look up and we see the little dipper
like a smattering of glitter spilled into the sky
we see orion’s three-star belt
and then
instead of picking out the rest
of the many constellations our fathers once taught us
in childlike wonder our eyes drift
to that big bright star we could never identify:
instead
we see venus.
wind-whipped hair in lowered car windows and
too-stressed minds that don’t stargaze so often anymore
and yet
we look up and all we feel is childlike wonder
because there,
right there is venus.
there is warmth and calm and comfort,
there
is a father’s love.
UF PRISM 