Making Stars with Jacob Lawrence
       

The only cardboard we had was the box
where those red-scaled fish were frozen

whole. The grocer who owns the two
stores presented it to us when we

visited his home of cedar pillars    glass.
We drank bitter wine    ate spongy rolls

with strange cheese    discussed
the project of his country

How the horizon blinked when I
heard water    sand in funnels.

The ashen clouds were royal with blue as I
pressed my palm to my chest.

The fish are thawing for today's lunch.
As I flatten the box    a plane    Jacob draws

seven stars    cuts each with a Japanese blade.
On metallic paper they are traced

fourteen times    cut with scissors    glued
front to back    each side a mirror. Fish-line

is attached to each so they may hang from
the sloping boughs of the grumichama.

They sway    night's unassertive
light reflects crests    craters    bounce

from one to another. Beneath
the tree    wind-spun stars    a play.

A boy missing the moon    a wandering
girl humming    friends laughing    unaware

of his elaborate sorrow. The air will hoard
this occasion in its slender history.

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Copyright © 2013 Myronn Hardy All rights reserved
from Catastrophic Bliss
Bucknell University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission