VIGIL

by Isy Kohler

I am so tired these days.

There was a time I allowed the world to shift around me, 

Stars blazing into white streaks of jet-fuel in timelapse,

Screen the only light in any touchable radius– protected territory.

Looking through the glass that birds ram into, 

You could see me, shifting in heat, sweat rolling into my sheets

To evaporate with tears and mucus meant to be forgotten in the night. 

Yet I would stand and wash my face cold with black water, looking 

Into the dark of my mirror, remembering, often horrible things.

The fears of the night made me tumble into too-hot covers. 

So many nights I stayed awake, mainly afraid, mainly unable 

To sleep in a world where stars lived and died every single second, 

And didn’t even circle overhead at the hours I was:

the only person in the world,

the only one watching, 

the only one remembering.

Now, I wait at window sills with cold breath, writing backwards for you. 

You have forgotten your grief in the night. Watch the night sky just once, 

Trace the path of the stars with your fingertip so softly you can barely feel the shift of the air. 

I know there are too many. You do not have to remember their names. 

Remember the plastic stars pressed onto the ceiling wall of your childhood bedroom. 

Remember the empathy you had as a child— that is enough.