Thank God for the child who tooted twinkle, twinkle little star.
Her recorder’s sound bopped down stairs and through my ears
to rescue a mind thrust from day into night,
a mind in need of a little light.
Yes, twinkle, twinkle little star because
when invective falls
not on pavement, like so many feet;
not on water, like rain beat by beat;
but on real bodies that bleed and ache, well,
it becomes clear how humans really build walls.
Without that little spark, I saw no safe place to go
except perhaps to crouch a dark self further into the dark,
to not offend the fair who claim the land, light, and air;
But I remember now, that stars are part of my universe, and I
may never go so far that my twinkling guide will not abide.