Elizabeth Smither

Restaurant, Stars

We had dined; we came out.
The stars were above, high and bright.
‘Look…’ someone started but we
started the car instead.

In their autumn positions the stars –
one noticed the displacement of a constellation –
but the car like a little cavern
rode off under its cover.

Will we remember the dinner or the stars?
The waitress and the chef in the kitchen
listening for signs our conversation
like the stars over us was dying?

Author’s Note

Sources

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