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day 29: starlight

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day 29: starlight

a poem a day in the month of may

Kaitlin Curtice
May 29, 2023
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day 29: starlight

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Friends,

Only three days left. I’m feeling a lot of things.

May has been a whirlwind personally, with a lot shifting. This study in poetry has remained constant and unchanging, and I really appreciate that.

Today’s word evokes so much. I can’t wait to read what comes to you.

When we moved to the city,
I told him that I missed
seeing the stars, watching them
in the night when things go quiet.
Two years later, we stood on
the front stoop of the house
outside the city and looked up
and across the horizon as
the stars slowly came into view,
their light drawing our souls upward
to stories we’ve heard our whole lives
but have yet to understand.
Constellations are entire worlds,
and we are the lucky on-lookers,
witness to their brilliance,
their mystery, their curious call.
Starlight beckons us home
to every dream we ever had.

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day 29: starlight

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day 29: starlight

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Liz
Writes View from the Therapist's Chair
May 29

Pollution has corroded,

Our view of the night sky.

Too many street lights,

Make the stars seem dim.

Yet, there they are,

Shining brightly.

Hope is always there,

Even when we can’t see it

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Saoirse
May 29

Day 29: Starlight

a poem a day in the month of may

(The Liminality Journal: Kaitlin Curtice)

Blue skies of morning

blot the starlight from my view;

still, the stars shine on.

***

From dust you have come,

And to dust you shall return.

~ Genesis 3:19

We are made of stardust,

every part of our body

formed in stars

over billions of years

and multiple star

lifetimes.

We come from dust

and to dust we shall return.

All my ancestors,

near and far,

came from the same dust.

Our skin tones are different;

sepia, olive, charcoal, lily white

The beat of the drum

to which we dance is different;

bodran, sammi, buffalo hide, goat skin

Our origin stories are different;

cave, sun, breath, moon

Regardless of color, drumbeat, creation story —

our bodies themselves,

the skin in which we live and breath and move,

are sculpted from the same clay.

the invisible starlight

of my morning

reminds me

i am made of stars

reminds me to

shine on

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