Star

Star

“A great and wondrous sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon 
under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head.”
   -Revelation 12:1

“…keep warm this small hot naked star/ fallen into my arms.”  -Luci Shaw, “Mary’s Song”

 

After the angel dissolved, I stood among the skies,
clothed not in spun linen, but in fire:
the sun’s silk my gown. I leaned into the swirl of gold and lit.

Have I created my Creator?

My mother clucks her tongue. Questions, she says,
cause confusion. She could never hold what I saw:

the crown on this plain brown head,
twelve stars in motion, set spinning like a child’s toy,
and rushing toward me, flames in its wake, blazed
the greater star, its hot white orb.

Should I tell you it entered me, how the warm simmer settled?

When I woke to this dirt floor, my mother’s voice
in the next room, issuing me out the door,
I ran my hands down my belly,
knew what is true is crown, not dirt.

Later, when the nausea churned, when the accusations
birthed, when all I loved turned enemy,
I stood in the garden, arms raised,
closed my eyes and let the spinning crown encircle me,
felt this star descend to human form.

© Micha Boyett. All rights reserved. Please do not reprint or post without attribution.
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