My mirror is the cemetery of smiles.
Outside the blossoms have fallen.
Love exists though there are people
still broken hopeless in this world.
Night rises like a poem, the moon
is the only mouth in the sky.
Visiting hours are over but I stay.
The nurses don't mind. I'm quiet.
Don't talk to your drugged, sleeping
face. I do hold your hand.
Seven months they have kept you
alive when you should have been dead.
I sum the hours and blame myself.
I come at dawn and when I leave,
it is below the plaintive sky,
cemetery for stars. So many graves,
so many dying stars, waiting to be
counted. Which one is for you?
Originally published in Stellar Showcase Journal, Spring 2007
Copyright © Lisa Zaran