(From the perspective of the sun to a lonely woman)
Do you know what it feels like
to be omni-present and invisible, at the same time?
To be the center of the universe,
and have blinds shut to you?
I imagine it to be like God.
You can’t pray to me only when you are grieving,
When you look bitterly upon your childhood
you pretend like you don’t remember the soccer games,
or the smile and sweat of summer,
how I held you at your grandparents’ house
in Florida on winter breaks.
I know you remember that.
After the dead-dark of February, I always
And here you are, again, forgetting.
I may be the smallest star in the universe but
I shine just the same for all the times
you’ve raised your glass to me,
closed your eyes, given your body, laughed
in my presence, just because.
You may feel like the smallest woman
in the universe, sometimes, but
someone will still raise their glass to you, count
on you being here tomorrow like sunrise,
want you with them like I was —
on your shoulders in the mountains in Morocco,
in your eyes on the water in Denmark,
during the golden hour in the park in Boston,
going down over the terrace in Spain.
Don’t think I don’t rise for you,
even when you feel like the darkness is just too much, know
that I will break the day for you
like I did at the funeral,
after the break up,
during that fight,
the time you said goodbye,
at the end of every good thing.
I’ll always come back for you.