star death

we all wore gold 
for the funeral. 
stood on the roof
& watched as 
black confetti fell 
like cherry blossoms
from a static sky. 
on the television
no one was talking
about the death of
several hundred stars.
instead the anchor man said,
"tomorrow we will be happy."
we tried to take pictures
but they all came out blurry.
minnows in a pot of boiling water.
i felt my skin like a screen door
blowing open. all the stars 
underneath, weeping.
a star goes with no warning.
one day is riding a bicycle
in their constellation
& the next is coming down
in pieces. is not replaced
with another star. a big hole
in the sky that night. we stuck
our fingers in it to check
if it was real. taking handfuls
of the confetti before they turned
to dust. i want to know
what is taken when a star goes.
the foot prints & the alien trees 
& the shoulders. sometimes
stars are just marbles
in my pocket but that night
they were spiders or sisters 
or at least thumbs
all sticking through the loam.
we wore gold & did not undress
for several days. until the wind
had blown away the remnants.
until we just referred to
that quadrant of sky as
"we will be happy." still,
i reach up to touch the frayed edges.
wonder if the stars chose to depart
or if it was sudden
& irresistible. 

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