Self Soothing

I.

From the spun out galaxies

They are coming home

The stars they flung in wild abandon

They are bringing back

The canvasses they painted

They have taken down

And if they come back cold

And if they come back tired

And if they come back desolate

Here are arms to hold them

Here is warmth to radiate

Deep enough so they can leave

All the long and fruitless miles

All the hopes that came back empty

Deep enough to let them rest

Till they can gain new life as stories

All of my questers

I let them come back

And that which comforts me

Will integrate us all.

II.

Some of them are asking me

Did we really have to bring back

All the stars?

Maybe we left some out there—

Could that be OK?

What if there are really whole swaths of them

Shining up there with the slender, slender crescent moon

While frost settles gently on rooftops?

And maybe space really is

As big as we mapped it

And maybe you can really have it!

—Hush, children.  Sleep for now.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 22, 2011