Eating a Star
Some reach for them,
some wish to possess them,
some even might want to wear them,
but I’ve always wanted to eat the stars.
I would one day like to reach and touch them,
and I believe I would enjoying having a star
of my own,
and I think I would look lovely with
one around my neck.
But what I truly want is to pluck a star
from the heavens,
and take a bite.
For the taste I don’t know what I would expect,
age, power, and light
dancing on my tongue.
I imagine a crunch in the first bite,
silver crumbs and dust,
landing on my lips,
and coating my fingers.
And in the center I find
swirling silver and gold liquid.
It is inexplicable beauty and like ice to touch,
I hesitate to consume it.
What would it mean,
to have such beauty in me,
to have this coldness coursing through my veins?
Would I become cold?
Would I grow distant and chill?
Would I lose sensation in my whole body,
until I can’t feel anything,
until I don’t care about anything?
Would I become like a star,
isolated in the dark,
untouchable to all?
I would be alone.
I would be so alone.
Because even the other stars
and miles away.
I pause and put the little star down,
I take a napkin and wipe the stardust
off my lips and fingers,
Erasing all evidence of my incomplete meal.
I cannot eat a star.
I cannot have that beauty, that isolation.
I cannot become a star.
I’ll put it away,”
in a small little jar.
Keep it from others.
Maybe one day
loneliness will not be so unappealing,
—Lane Monday (via myeyesofsapphire)