Prose poetry | Memoir story | Vision loss

The Only Way I’ll Ever See The Stars

They fill the night sky like drops of champagne that catch the light, but I have never seen the stars

My friend and I lay side by side in the soft grass, We gazed at the night sky

My friend whispered

Look up, look at the stars, you will see them tonight, they’re like glitter, like thousands of fireflies.

But I didn’t see them,

The night sky was always,

only,

black.

I’ve never seen the stars.

Once again we lay side by side in the thick grass, We stared into the night sky

My friend described it

It’s impossible to count the stars, there are millions, you will see them just try harder.

But I saw only black.

One night I lay alone in the tall grass, I searched the night sky

I did try, just like she said, I looked harder, I squinted my eyes, I concentrated, but there was nothing, I saw nothing above me,

The night sky was always,

only,

black.

Then one night as I lay alone in the cool grass, And strained my eyes toward the sky

I caught a glimpse of a star, I was excited, I stared at it, I would not lose it, If I kept still I might see more stars

But after a while, I lost my only star

And again,

The sky was black.

Next time my friend and I lay side by side in the dewy grass, I told her I had seen one star

She explained

That’s the North Star, try to relax, pretend you’re in the sky, you might see more.

I did relax and then, I saw a few stars, I kept still, I would not lose them, But when I blinked they disappeared

Only illusions, Reflections of the North Star in the tears that pooled in my eyes.

One day I stole a picture of a starry night sky from a book, I studied it, I wondered if it was real

Was it only the artist’s imagination? An artist can paint what he wants to paint

Millions of stars in a dark blue sky seemed like a nice scene to paint, But I was beginning to understand

Like a disturbing thought from a dream it occurred to seven-year-old me, I could not see what other people saw when they looked at the night sky.

People say you don’t know what you’re missing, People are wrong, I know exactly what I’m missing

When I’d catch glimpses of my North Star, I’d wish upon it, But my wish never came true, And it never would¹

Today I reach back in time to comfort seven-year-old me, Pictures of the night skies cover my office wall, Stargazing books have their place on my coffee table

When I see a starry night sky on a show, I pause the show

It’s the only way I’ll ever see the stars.

Note¹: An early symptom of my eye condition (RP) is night blindness, which I’ve had since childhood. It’s how they knew that my vision would slowly begin to degrade. I’m fortunate to have a small amount of central vision remaining and hope it lasts a few more years.

The season for stars

I’ve procrastinated publishing this piece, but today a beautiful poem by Josh Hinton appeared on my feed and it felt like the right time. I wish I had a million reasons to not take the stars for granted.

Another of my prose poems: