Last night the stars came down,

not the gentle ones

I wished upon with Mama’s hand in mine

but heavy, angry stars,

with fire for wings

and thunder in their bellies.

They cracked the sky open,

spilled night across our street,

made the earth shake

like it was afraid too.

I wanted to point and say, look,

the stars are dancing,

but Mama pulled me close,

pressed my head against her chest

so I would not see

how the houses burned

like paper lanterns.

I used to dream of catching one.

A star, soft and silver,

to keep in a jar

and show my friends at school.

But the ones that fell tonight

were sharp,

they broke the world,

they tore the air,

and when the smoke cleared,

the sky was empty.

No stars left to wish on.

I asked Mama,

where do the good stars go

when the bad ones fall?

She only held me tighter,

and her silence

was louder

than the bombs.