Stars Wish Upon Me

by Laine Derr and Carolina Torres

Carrying me to the blue, Don’t shoot, she screams.
Young when she had me, her first, her heart,
men stood in her vision, ready to kill the light.
But I am the sky, eyes that cut through flesh, I cry.
I’m of an age when people speak of saintly hawks
stealing dark-brown babies, but I’ve not come to lie.
Gifts of gravity, she was (I was) an illusion of the fall –