Real Stars of The Universe

The stars were out last night.  Not the Hollywood stars making headlines in the days following the Golden Globes; the real stars of the Universe.  The twinkles in the sky with Greek names and mythological lore.  The dark night sky of New Mexico was the perfect inky backdrop to a beautiful light show last evening.  These are the stars I could worship; they've navigated ancient mariners, inspired nursery rhymes, poetry, and symphonies.  No star in Tinsel Town has ever been that motivating of a muse for me.

I stood on the Casita patio craning my neck, thankful for the flexibility that yoga provides, and gawked at the very bright, not so teeny points of light in a midnight sky.  I must muster up some bravado and wander into the desert at night, away from city streetlamps (actually there are not many of those in Santa Fe), car dealership light pollution, and distracting noises to experience, no, re-live, one of the favorite parts of my childhood.  Staring at the constellations.

I grew up in suburbia, that confusing intersection of city and country.  Which mouse was I?  There are only two choices in the children's book, and suburban mouse is not one of them.  To my relatives in The Bronx or Staten Island, we lived 'in the country'.  To people north of the Rockland County line, we lived in the city.  I remember my Aunt Ina remarking that she could really see the stars out here!  We were standing on my driveway, and somewhere in my eight year old brain, I knew I was lucky to live in a place where celestial clusters could peek through my curtains at night.

The sky is wondrous.  During the day we are warmed by the sun, at night we gaze at the moon.  I've been known to howl a few times, and it feels really good to do that.  Feral, wild.  Clouds all have names that are complicated, scientific.  Growing up,  I'd lay flat out on the ground, pretending every cloud was a stand in for something else. A dinosaur or dog.  Do kids do this anymore?  I still stop when I hear a bird, look up for the vocalist.  Crows may caw, but the ravens that circle the Casita have a sort of gurgling croak.  It is softer and more feminine than the crow.

As an adult, I learned the word firmament.  Akin to the word basement, I thought it would mean grounding or foundational.  In fact it means quite the opposite.  Often a new word, a cool sounding word, or a word with a meaning that intrigues me will inspire a poem.  That is what happened with firmament.  I wrote The Firmament while attending a college level poetry class at Arapahoe Community College.

I mention this because I am a non-academic poet.  I don't have a degree in writing.  I don't qualify for an MFA low residency.  I am the poet of my heart.  I've been writing for 50 years.  This class at ACC opened poetic possibilities for me.  Kathryn Winograd is an amazing poet and teacher.   She coaxed me to open the Pandora's Box of poetry buried deep in the hurts of my soul.  And my hope is that hope will remain when I am done writing about the darkness and the wounds.

I'm in Santa Fe to write.  Polaris is in the sky every night.  The beacon of bygone sailors.  Will I feel the tug of the North Star?  The gravitational force of the Goddess Moon?  Can I bay when the words don't come and shine when I find just the write combination of letters to express what I need to?  Tonight I will bow to the stars of the Universe.

Time to Write,

Jane