Ursa Major Weekend

Mason jar beacons

and lawn blanket chairs,

we lie down and tell 

each other’s cosmic fortunes.

You make up constellations

and create a mismatch map of stars.

I point out the Big Dipper

in the middle of your muddled chaos,

and you stop in mid sentence

to ask me to explain further.

I trace the line of the cup,

then I tell you about the bear-

Ursa Major.

I give her your name,

and a backstory 

that dances faster

than a summer weekend

of trivia nights and late night

gossip and ice cream sessions.

You tell me that you are only a cup,

the ladle with a slow dip life,

and I tell you the cup

is the backbone for the bear.


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