i have loved the stars too fondly; any

[Carinae]

astra inclinant, non necessitant ------ (the stars incline; they do not compel) It is kindness and cruelty both, that she was made to mirror the sky above her. It is a memory; especially on clear nights when the stars seem almost touchable, and they scatter across her skin and she remembers with an aching clarity what it was like, among them. But it is a taunting memory, what she will never have again drawn across her body, again and again until days come when she does not want to look at herself, when she cannot stand her own skin. Memories are like that, though, tinged in bitter sweetness, the sky laid over her a joy and despondency both. There had been sounds, behind her, but she paid them little mind. She feels dulled, today, far too anchored. (The heaviness of the world astounds her still, she grew up weightless, and when she came here she felt impossibly weighty and strange.) The steps lend themselves to a girl, who strolls closer until the space between them is tenuous at best. A curious trick, she murmurs, and Carinae wonders. She does not think of it as a trick, anymore then she thinks of her own shapes and angles as a trick – it is part of her, the way bones and organs are. The mare closes in, recedes, and Carinae is still for all of it, save for the drifting clouds across her back. The mare continues on, cryptic, and she hypothesizes on why Carinae is the way she is (ironic, then, that the dullness shines so bright from her that it can be seen miles away). “No,” she says, “I think I’m too heavy for the earth.” carinae