Along the dark street the group moves sporadically -

talking earnestly together - gesticulating - laughing.

A wry comment bares bone.

Excited, I toss back my head,

Caught up in the argument, eager to temper the point.

 

The brilliant stars snap me off-guard.

Arrested, I pause, the rejoinder forgotten.

The stars are magnificent!

I have never seen so many - so close - so aggressive.

My hot mind jumps frenetic with information.

 

The stars are disturbing.

Strangely unsettled by their boldness

I scan the confusion of constellations anxiously.

I need a resting place;

I am vibrating.

 

The stars mock my shrinking eyes.

Quickly now, nervously, I search through the mass.

At last, focussed, the Big Dipper looks back.

My heart smiles: in the frantic galaxies a friend!

Warmth - delight - (and I chuckle) - security.

 

My foolishness is ludicrous.

Leering at me, ridiculing Fantasy,

Analysis rears its probing nose scornfully.

Conspiratorially, winking at the tippy Dipper,

I shove Knowledge into an Iron Box and solder the lid.

 

Across the sky a flare streaks briefly, and another.

Shooting stars! My breath catches.

Balefully I glare at the Iron Box, but it doesn’t rattle.

Wide-eyed I encompass the dazzling midnight,

responsive to the pulsing stars.

 

Suddenly, Nonsense is shattered.

I expand to the cosmos - expand - and expand.

Everywhere

I feel motion.

I shall implode with infinity.

 

 With a fearsome ecstasy I know galaxies are whizzing

through space; atoms are spinning in me.

The universe pounds into me.

My body is an unbearable prison.

With compelling energy the stars call. They reach for me.

 

A terrible tuition nearly dissolves my mind.

I can answer!

Frightened almost witless I jabber at sanity:

“I have a body. I have a soul. They are me!

Do I dare to divide them - capriciously?

 

Violently, my soul tugs for freedom.

Now that I know, I cannot deny its right.

“Go, then,” I cry out, “but please -please come back.

I will be nothing without you - an empty shell.

They will say I am dead.”

 

With horrible awe I watch my spirit leave me,

like a wisp of cellophane on a shining thread.

I see it rising far - far from me,

leaping for the cauldron of creation.

The risk is absolute.

 

“No! Come back. Come back!”

Turning, my soul clearly regards me.

I can see myself from its great height,

with my arms outstretched,

my fingers twisted in the cord.

 

I can feel its indecision, its torment,

its overwhelming desire to yank free the tether.

Through my tears I beg, “Please come back.”

The hesitation is incalculable. It comes quickly,

formless and vital back from the glowing sky.

 

I reach for my spirit and wrap it to me gently,

absorbing it in a closed embrace.

“Dear God!” I cannot stop sobbing or shaking.

Around me my friends clamour, “Are you all right?

What happened? We were just ahead …”

 

Carefully, I unlock my trembling arms.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m all right. I really am”

And then I belie my very words.

I set off running down the midnight street

singing wild arpeggios of star songs.

 

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas