Imagine a
star
falling
from the heavens,
slicing
through the atmosphere,
breaking
up, burning free.
Punching a
hole through your roof.
Coming to
rest
on the
pillow, next to your head.
Now,
moment by
moment,
remind
yourself
how lucky
you are
to have
stardust on your pillow
to be here,
to breathe
freely and
to wake
each day
knowing the
sun will also rise.
Steep
yourself in gratitude
before the
next star falls.
In Response to Meteorite Crashes Through Ceiling and Lands on Woman’s Bed
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/10/14/world/canada/meteorite-bed.html
Dreams of Flying
Swirling mist
Shades of shadow and light
Freckles of moisture
On bare skin
I swim through the air
Breathing fresh
The scent of clover
Moonlight
Moonlight
gathers in pools.
I dream of
splashing in it,
painting
myself in silver mystery
so I can
walk unseen in the forest.
Pine Marten
and wolf,
Whiskey
Jack and willow.
I will fish
for salmon
with the
bears.
I will dip
myself in bioluminescence,
swim with
the jellyfish,
dance on
the shore
beneath the
highway of stars.
Moving like
mist through the streets and towns,
I will
reach out,
gently
stroke the memories
of people I
pass
so they
pause, smile—
try to
remember
nights of
moonlight past.
Sally Quon is S a back-country blogger, dirt-road diva, and teller of tales. She was a finalist in the Vallum Chapbook Contest for two consecutive years. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies including “Better Left Standing,” Catlin Press 2022. A disabled writer from Kelowna, British Columbia, Sally is an associate member of the League of Canadian Poets.
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