Laurie Hamer

Starlight

I lie on this hillside,

wet grass bent

        beneath bony blades,

silken blackness arching

        above, unaware.

I sweep the starless heavens,

seeking to betray

        cryptic ciphers

kept by gods and beasts

        and men.

Seductive promises

sift from heaven’s cusp,

        beguiling the earth

in a dusting

        of sleep-inducing spice.

Truth,

bright and silent and elusive,

        lingers watchfully

from behind the velvet cloak

        of night.

It waits patiently, then

one sharp ray,

        eager and hurtful,

pierces

        evening’s fabric.

Now, countless pricks of starlight,

aloof and scornful,

        puncture

night’s ebony curtain

        in twinkling phosphorescence.

The night air crackles,

and Reason,

        suspended in opium slumber,

stirs and reluctantly

        awakens.

Trepidation thrums within my breast

as the scent of lavender rises in the zephyr,

        for it cannot disguise

the rancid incense of Death

        that lies, crouched, beneath the leaves.

Then, a falling star,

unleashed and courageous,

        etches a golden arc

across the desolate sky,

        its glorious tail streaming.

Lonesome,

I imagine riding on its fiery tail,

        this heavenly nymph

that so bravely spirals downward

        toward its sea-death.

And I realize…

Our world is nothing more

than swirls of aquamarine,

        amber,

ochre, and

        mahogany;

We are nothing more

than temporal specks

        of stardust

in the Time less ness

        of Aum.

And yet…

As we carve a blazing path

above the sullen moon,

        my Being strains forward

and, into the Nothingness,

        boldly cries, “I am!”

Unheard,

I gaze upward,

        searching the night sky

for the tiny aperture

        that birthed my fiery beam.

The universe

yawns,

        my curiosity,

my hopefulness,

        unnoticed.

Then,

with wet, probing fingers,

        the night gently

extinguishes

        my arc of light.

There is a pause,

a deep, earthly sigh, then

        I tumble roughly through the night

to end, battered,

        at my beginning.

Stars once again

twinkle brightly,

        mocking me

with their harsh

        spindles of truthlight.

Cold and bitter,

I arise,

        impotent and full of rage,

curls of vapor

        steaming from flared nostrils.

Dauntless,

I reach into the sky,

        grasping-clutching

the cunning, cosmic,

        curtain’s edge.

I tear with jagged sweeps

of scuttling nails and biting teeth,

        searching vainly for God’s eye

as Sartre winks and

        Camus smiles.

Laurie Hamer, originally from Waukesha, Wis., lives in Platteville with her husband Mark and two daughters, Sam and Cassie. Laurie is a communications specialist in the College of Liberal Arts and Education at UW-Platteville. She has a Bachelor of Arts degree in English with a Writing Emphasis and a minor in Public Relations. A poem that she wrote, “Silhouette,” was in the fourth edition of the Capitola Review, published by River Current Press. She has loved writing all of her life.