He smiled at me cheekily, and when I wasn't
, (I was, but that didn't really
matter), he took the sack full of stars
and poured them into my bag. They were
The bag was full, god, it was full of stars, so full
that I couldn't buckle it closed. I clutched it on
my lap all the way back, grinning at my secret
I came home to a quiet bedroom, and dug in, pulled
out handfuls. They scattered onto the bed, at the
end and then near my pillow. I lay between them,
smiling tiredly, and I fell asleep with his stars
in my eyes.
Still now, there are stars in the bottom of my bag.
Sometimes one will surface, tangled in the jumble of
keys and gum and loose change. I smile at a thought
of him and drop it back. It's good to carry around
parts of heaven.