The uneven emotions of that eighth grade year
left me pacing and walking the dog
through the graveyard into town.
“Mr. Tambourine Man” seesawed
with “Goin’ Out of My Head”
into the dark. One foot in front of the other
as my parent’s fought.
The neighborhood was in front of
“The Big Valley” or “I Dream of Jeannie”
Doors were locked.
Orion was rising. The winter sky
held the new moon and very little light pollution then.
A commercial plane flew across the constellation’s pattern
The new section of route 80 sang of occasional traffic.
The world had changed; Kennedy was dead. My grandmother, too.
I was a small Catholic schoolgirl immersed in a larger public pond.
Football games and history other than the Revolutionary War
cornered me in crowded hallways – so unfamiliar.
Me and my two dresses of cotton poplin. A gingham tragedy with piping.
And saddle shoes just out of fashion.
I walked looking at the sky.
I walked looking at other’s lights and lives.
I walked until I ran
away after high school.
To another town and other lights.
And a different view of the stars.