Counting Stars
by Megan Huwa
A woman, childlike, sits with her caretaker-mom at the mall.
My life could be hers; her life could be mine:
Both the same age, yet life has forced us each offbeat.
How are you still here? my physical therapist asked me the day before.
Blood could not reach my brain’s left side,
and bursts of blackouts numbed me to the gravity of life.
Are you a life force? the singer echoes at the mall,
and grief slow-dances down my cheeks—
only my sunglasses to cover.
When the woman’s mom disappears in a store, she stands up,
steps wide side-to-side, and claps like a child to the living rhythm
we all hear but silence behind pretend.
The mandolin’s pizzicato glitters like stars tossed
high into the sky. Is she a star? a refraction falling
like crushed glitter? She twirls in circles with
her purple-tipped blonde hair,
her Hello Kitty tattoo, and
her HELLO HAPPY t-shirt
because everyone is watching.
And when the song ends, everyone claps—
what life force.
Megan Huwa is a poet and writer in southern California. A rare health condition keeps her and her husband from living near her family’s five-generation farm in Colorado, so her writing reaches for home—both temporal and eternal. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Solum Literary Press, Calla Press, Foreshadow, Ekstasis, Solid Food Press, San Antonio Review, The Midwest Quarterly, LETTERS Journal, and elsewhere, and featured on The Habit Podcast.
