Starlight | Poem

Starlight Poem Text

My father stands in the warm evening

on the porch of my first house.

I am four years old and growing tired.

I see his head among the stars,

the glow of his cigarette, redder

than the summer moon riding

low over the old neighborhood. We

are alone, and he asks me if I am happy.

"Are you happy?" I cannot answer

I do not really understand the word,

and the voice, my father's voice, is not

his voice, but somehow thick and choked,

a voice I have not heard before, but

heard often since. He bends and passes

a thumb beneath each of my eyes.

The cigarette is gone, but I can small

the tiredness that hangs on his breath.

He has found nothing, and he smiles

and holds...
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