I draw lines on the sky,
Dot-to-dot with the stars
To create a picture above
My head. I did this with the
Scars on my chest I got
When I was ten to see
If I too carried the constellations
On my skin; the Big Dipper,
Or Orion, perhaps my star sign too.
I got a telescope for Christmas one year,
So I gazed at the craters on the moon,
Though the pins came loose, so it always
Turned left, and the sky was never dark enough
To see the Milky Way like I did
When I was four, but there’s too much
Air pollution now to make out the faintest star.
I stare up at a blank canvas,
Wishing my paint brush could reach
The sky so I could decorate it with the
Brightest colours and make it beautiful once again.