From the archives – Falling Star — Kimberly L. Becker

Falling Star

I don’t call.
There is the time difference, yes.
The matter of other relationships, granted.
I don’t call.
Instead I make a marinade for supper—
soy sauce, sugar, juice of tangerine,
some garlic. Fresh ginger.
And the star anise.
Scent of licorice.
Delicate like the spines of a starfish.
So lovely.
I stir it in and watch
as the star sinks to the bottom of the bowl
where it lies winking: your life, your life,
what have you done with your life?
I stir it into silence,
into submission,
where it lies steeping, steeping.

by Kimberly L. Becker

from Autumn Sky Poetry Number 7, September 2007

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim