There’s the big dipper I say

“No” she splays my

fingers into fronds

and measures

the night sky

from minor to major

“There’s the big dipper”

she corrects

“They are all the same”

I say

She replies “No — they all have their

place — their color — like race

you cannot move

from one to the other”

I dismiss their distinctive twinkles

and say “they are the same”

“They’re not” she denies

“They are in different places

Like you and me”

“But we’re both here”

I —

Her hands rise

before my face

and block the

stars before my eyes

“No — We’re not”

“You’re here

I’m back there”