Wishing

              Some of the stars in the night sky are so far away
              that it takes hundreds of years for their light to reach us.

In the beginning, she whispered cautionary tales of men to her
beautiful daughter. She warned her about them, young and old,

dead or gone wrong, as if that would save the girl from future
heartbreak. She recalled her own anguish with her husband, that

began with their entangled souls, and only a frail enchantment.
Since her childhood, she was taught to wish upon a star, in stories

and nursery rhymes. So, she wished on a star back then, for their
fragile love to grow. But it ended with her eyes downcast, lashes

beating back the tears, silent shouts, and lips dry from begging.
The night he left, she stood in the yard for hours, eyes turned

skyward, looking for the star on which she had hung her hope,
but there were too many, and they all looked the same. So, she

spent that night outside, asking each and every star, why that
long-gone wish never came true. But by morning, she saw her folly.

It finally occurred to her that stars are just spheres of superhot
hydrogen and helium gas. They’re devoid of empathy, light years

away, some long-dead by the time we see them. And she certainly
should have known, they’re incapable of listening, or granting a wish.