None of the days have passed away

The stars have yet to fall from the sky.
They cling to the velvety darkness above them, little silver pinpricks, listening for their cue,
for when they can explode in a burst of white-hot magnificence
to lead the way to our cabins
in the dead of the night.
The crickets have not yet sung among the Berkshire trees.
They remain quiet, silently waiting, 
holding in their song until they can sing it for all of us,
with our friendship bracelet string and our duffels and our laughter
like the tinkle of bells.
The lake water has yet to ripple in the early-summer heat.
It has not been penetrated by a cannonball or pencil dive,
by the sound of screaming,
the good kind, the happy kind.
The dining hall is not yet filled
with loud conversation, utensils clinking against plates, chairs scraping the floor as we push them in.
The cabins are not yet unpacked,
bunk beds void of blankets and mattress pads,
shelves empty of notebooks and stationery and reminders of home.
There is no hint of a whisper in the breeze amongst the pine trees
We've been waiting for you all year,
but there will be 
There will be
late nights huddled around a candle, whispering after lights-out,
early mornings setting the dining-hall table,
evenings, when the sky is purple-blue-black with dusk and we sing
a Chimney Corners day has passed away
underneath the earliest sliver of moon.
But for now,
none of the days have passed away,
and a summer of laughter and thunderstorms and sunlight and song
of tears and fights and friendship and love
is at my fingertips,
waiting to be immortalized in memories, in poems
in dreams in the dead of winter nights.



13 years old

More by star

  • Closer to spring

    Darkness falls quickly now,

    the feeble sky overpowered by the black pull of eternity.

    Snow turns to rain, rain turns to mud,

    and every month, I bleed and I cry.

    It's almost Christmas, but

  • My Heart Will Heal

    Your eyes are dark like midnight, filled with millions of tiny stars

    and I don't know what to say to you, what to do

    because when I see you,




    not in two but in so many scattered pieces,

  • Lose you to the night

    We talk as the twilight turns to dark ash, 

    sit out on the porch and catch fireflies in mason jars--

    only for a second, then let them fly.

    You tell me about friends I barely know, and I nod and smile at you,