by darkstar

In those days,
our days of orbit in the womb,
we dreamed long dreams,
dreams that spanned entire dimensions of space.
But all of this occurred very quietly,
so it was that the women who bore us,
when closing their eyes
or sitting with their faces pressed
against the frozen windows of
did not always realize that
the tiny feathered girls
fluttering through their minds
(just behind the eyelids)
were us, our calls to them:
be our mother, madre,
madonna, mamma.
be the transparency
through which we are filtered
into the world.
It is easy enough to misplace such whispers
amid the more obvious cacaphonies
of telephone bills and
credit card debt.
So we might have known these hopes
would prove futile,
that a womb does not always wish
to contain a satellite,
but yes, we were dreamers then,
with entire worlds at our fingertips,
except the one world
in which we were to be cut loose,
adrift from orbit