A Warm Night at Summer's End


I fell down the stairs two times this week. 
I peeked through the dark to see if you'd fallen asleep. 
You go to bed without telling me when you're mad. 
You know that it hurts me. 

I like when I get home in the middle of the night
And the sprinklers turn on. 
The grass waits all day for that drink. 
It's worth it for the grass,
Since now, the grass can savor it. 
Good job, grass. 
You deserve it. 

I learned empathy in second grade, when 
Ms. Tobias told us that plants were alive. 
We are so mean to them. 
But they are just like us. 

I too, am the grass;
I enjoy a long drink at the end of the day. 
I allow myself to be stepped on, yet say naught. 
I get a haircut when my head gets unruly. 
I'm a proponent of the good ol' morning cry too, 
Yet you call it 'dew,' 
You are many, and yet we are one. 

As I walk under the branches of an oak in the night, 
I walk into a web, and it's owner takes my sight. 
A small spider has made her home here. 
My mom always emphasized manners, 
So I resist the urge to lean in and tell the spider,
"I hate you and all of your kind."
Instead, I say, 
"Hello, spider." 

I want to call her Eve, but that's not a spider name. 
(And I don't even know her gender, honestly) 
(And I wanted to call her Charlotte but that's cliché) 
So I call her Ava. 
Ava doesn't acknowledge me though. 
No spider ever has or ever will.
(Spider mothers tend not to emphasize manners in their homewebs) 
Ava doesn't even know what she's doing. 
Spiders are not like the grass and me. 
Spiders don't wake up every morning and say to themselves,
"What am I going to do today to make me hate myself and the world a little less?" 
No, spiders just make fibonacci spirals out of a protein that nobody cares about. 
Nor does Ava decide whether she will spin in a tree or on the ground, 
Nor where hidden or where found --
No,
These big-boy decisions are made by something higher.
(spiders don't question authority like humans) 
(nor do they speak with it) 

Are we alone in the universe? 
Is there anything like Ava, or me, or the grass? 
Is there somewhere where spiders make their own choices? 
That place surely isn't great, now that I consider it.
For I make my own decisions every day. 
I pick my clothes, my breakfast,
The words I speak, and my posture --
Yet whether I'll amount to anything more than Ava is the grass' guess,
Since it'll be the only one left long after Ava and I die. 
Drink on, eternal grass. 

Drink on.  




Lucky Stars will be available for purchase via Kickstarter starting 1 December, 2020.