falling from a star-flecked sky. The puff
of breath that echoed from your father’s

lips as he pointed to Jupiter and taught
that miracles were never too far off.

Somewhere along the way, you forgot this
teaching. Wonder if this weight was something

that came with age or if you picked it up
somewhere along the way. You remember

your sister, caring for you like a mother.
Your mother, the size of her hands—so

much like yours—as they carried entire planets,
weaving together solar systems between her

fingers as she whispered everything you could be.
At night, you stare up at a star-flecked sky,