A Chain of Question Marks around my Wrists.

I awake
in the coldness of night,
coyotes howling,
somewhere in that space before dawn,
I stare
at the shimmering stars
one in each frame of the window, and

I ask myself for a thousand answers

with only one question,

and yet
that’s so limiting,
as I break myself free
from the chains of question marks
wrapped around my wrists,
knowing it
isn’t as simple as trusting
the sun to rise every new day
that the constellations
will remain steady
in their dotted demarcations
like Orion’s arrow,
and yet
it’s in the shooting stars
that I’ve confided my wishes,
the constant burning
of Polaris

whose light sparkles through
the cold glass,

separating wishes
from my racing mind,
which imagines
a thousands answers written on a paper,
that’s folded into a spaceship
and tossed
like a shooting star
towards the heavens,

so all the answers
burn before landing among the stars,
and the one question

no longer

lingers in the coolness of dawn’s blue lavender sky.

Copyright 2015 © Jessie Wright


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