By Charis Negley

A shooting star, my cousin says
I crane my neck up to see into the dark Maine sky
Stars as plentiful as pinholes in a cushion
But we see no more meteors

With our hazy young minds
We identify constellations
Slightly bent stories of stars sliding off our tongues
And I wonder if I can count them all

I’ll never see a wider sky
I won’t see half as many stars in Delaware
But tonight, I can lose myself
In a short eternity of a shooting starless sky

Charis Negley is from Wilmington, DE, and earning her bachelor’s degree in professional writing at Taylor University. Website:

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