A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.
We’re arguing about the stars again. It’s midnight when he pulls/drags me outside into the frozen dark. Look up! he says. I throw back my head, search the sky, see only a cloud bank, a muffled moon. He grabs my shoulders, spins me around. Look! Don’t you see them? I squint my eyes. Where? Over there, he says, tilts my head back even farther. There’s a faint glimmer, like a starlight SOS.
It’s a lie what he says about the crystal clarity of desert skies. My vision is occluded. Too much fog/dust/resentment. I have yet to see the stars, splayed across the Mojave night. When I picture starlight, it’s late summer in upstate New York. That long ago time with R., my first husband. Astonishing, state of the art vistas, like some benevolent god threw fistfuls of diamonds into the night.
Truth is, it’s not just the stars. Lately we spar about everything. Gone, consensual bargaining, graciousness, largess. Now it’s guard up, all the time. I forget how it started, but these days he jabs. I bob, I weave. Avoidance techniques. Mostly, I stay out of his way, make myself scarce. I mean, if he’s lying about the stars, what else is he lying about?
He’s losing patience with me. I sense his frustration. That’s never a good sign. Last night when he shook me awake, he asked me to trust him, go the distance. Me? I wanted to sleep, undisturbed, in the guestroom. But he lured me out into the night, swore it would be worth it, that I’d finally see what he saw. Right. I wonder if we’re even gazing at the same sky.
So when he points up at the sky, I squint my eyes, focus. I should lie, but I can’t. I see nothing, I tell him. Okay, fine, he mutters, at the end of his rope. I know the signs. Just remember, he says. You asked for it. When he pulls back his arm to punch me, I almost understand why. And when I come to and open my eyes, I discover he’s right. I see stars.
Poem and photo copyright 2024 Alexis Rhone Fancher
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s many books include Erotic: New & Selected (NYQ Books, 2021. She and her husband live and collaborate in the Mojave Desert, 30 miles from anywhere. They have a spectacular view.

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Amazing and powerful poem, Alexis. (Carla)
LikeLike
Wow!
LikeLike
Double wow.
>
LikeLike
Wow
LikeLike
Memories of my first. The desert sky, motorcycles and alcohol. Over fifty years ago. Gut knots as it did then. Grateful for time and distance. Terrific poem.
LikeLike
sorry for the typo. I meant: “How I agree”
LikeLiked by 1 person
How I green with Tony M.: lovely, disturbing. Chilling & terrifying, too.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, lovely and disturbing. Alexis holds opposing moods in balance…
>
LikeLiked by 1 person
As always, lovely disturbing work, A. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 2 people