star death we all wore gold for the funeral. stood on the roof & watched as black confetti fell like cherry blossoms from a static sky. on the television no one was talking about the death of several hundred stars. instead the anchor man said, "tomorrow we will be happy." we tried to take pictures but they all came out blurry. minnows in a pot of boiling water. i felt my skin like a screen door blowing open. all the stars underneath, weeping. a star goes with no warning. one day is riding a bicycle in their constellation & the next is coming down in pieces. is not replaced with another star. a big hole in the sky that night. we stuck our fingers in it to check if it was real. taking handfuls of the confetti before they turned to dust. i want to know what is taken when a star goes. the foot prints & the alien trees & the shoulders. sometimes stars are just marbles in my pocket but that night they were spiders or sisters or at least thumbs all sticking through the loam. we wore gold & did not undress for several days. until the wind had blown away the remnants. until we just referred to that quadrant of sky as "we will be happy." still, i reach up to touch the frayed edges. wonder if the stars chose to depart or if it was sudden & irresistible.