Stars Caught in the Power Lines

Stars get caught in the power lines by my house

on nights the city forgets to be louder than my head.

Tiny white snags on black cables,

like thoughts I never meant to keep

but never really let go.

~~

I stand at the window with the lights off,

barefoot on last week’s laundry,

watching Orion trip over the transformer

and spill himself across three tired roofs.

~~

The wires hum their own low worry,

electricity sprinting past

apartments where people pretend

They’re not lonely with the TV on.

~~

I picture my anxieties hanging there too,

knotted in the lines with the galaxies—

overdue bills, unsent texts,

That one sharp sentence I wish

I could unsay.

~~

If I squint, the whole mess

Looks almost intentional,

constellations drawn by a shaky hand

that never learned to color

inside the sky.

~~

A siren blurs through the distance;

the stars slip loose,

Or maybe the clouds remember their job.

The power lines go back to being just lines,

and I go back to being just me,

still secretly hoping

Something bright will stay.