CAROL MILLER-Poet

I read into things

STARS
for Celine


I can't even
begin to go there -
I'd rather be with
than without you.
And besides all that
you're still HERE.
Once we watched the stars.
Too much beauty can blind -
that's why stars become
hard and far, patient
and polished:
to be wished upon.
When we were brave
we held them in
our delicate hands.
When we have more love
than we know
how to hold
we squeeze it
and scare it away.
Love creates
constellations,
and wisdom allows us
to see them.
I learned this from you.
If tomorrow
is a no-show (the
morning broken and blue),
I'll lean out my window
and look for you -
I'll know where you are.
I'll wait for you,
my Morning Star...

WITNESS
I remember the winter
my Grandfather died -
his hard work, dark clothes folded
on the back
of his chair,
smoldering.
In the spring I
planted Pinks
in the Iron Lung,
knew where I lived
and inhaled the house.                                                                                              Wishbones
were slingshots
where I come from.
Mother said chance
was slim, luck was
dumb, love was blind.
I dreamt of a worn floor                                                                                                in a frosty field
in a country I
cannot recall -
useless currency
folded in books
I could not read.
I danced until I
lost my Espidrilles
in the dark.
Those were the days
when even God
was at large.