Wishing Myself into the Sky
By Angelee Sligay
Photo by Gregory H. Revera
She watches the sky with a hollow chest,longing for silver instead of skin.Her face does not glow in strangers’ eyes,yet the moon, scarred and distant, is adored.
She envies its borrowed light, how tides bend to its presence, how poets dress it in reverence, how lovers whisper beneath its gaze.
She remembers the way he spoke— soft words in half-lit rooms, promises that dangled like stars just out of reach.
For a season, she thought herself held, orbiting the warmth of his voice, but when dawn arrived, He turned his face away.
Now she gazes upward, thinking of the moon’s certainty, how it wanes and returns, how it is never abandoned.
If only she were the moon, she thinks, they would lift their heads to search for her among the stars, never letting her fade unseen.
But she is only a girl—earthbound, quiet, unnoticed—wishing for orbit,wishing for love,wishing that hehad wished for her.
