The Pleasures of Making a Wish
Seth McBride
I.
Relaxed on the dewy grass,
the wilderness mattress,
hand cupped under my head and my
elbows poked out as if they were
greater-than and less-than.
I scanned the galaxy green,
a portrait above the fresh-cut lawn.
II.
Maybe it’s a firefly extinguished
in a jar, a satellite from Russia,
a laser point on a black ceiling
caught before the batteries died,
a shimmering discus heaved from Mars,
it fell into my meteor hands, this star
ignited my eyes with taciturn understanding.
III.
It unzipped the sky with white
disappearing ink, and beckoned
me to peek behind the curtain of night.
A parcel from the angels delivered,
without address, to absolve my muddled
mind like a priest dissolving vices
by the water of the lord.
C.R. Catalano
14