passer-by with green fingers

A poem about naming what can't be named

Anshita Palorkar is a STEM student and guilty purple prose enthusiast from India. When she's not hunched over a computer or book, you'll probably find her procrastinating. Find her on Instagram/Medium @asomewhatchaoticpoet.

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last night, i dreamt of naming myself.

the north star disagreed and, in protest,
i picked apart that rubber band ball
into strands of melting uranium glass
that i wove back into my curtains.

i wake to sow a new moon so that
tonight, i can see my handiwork myself.

the north star is much farther north than they call it
but humans love their names, their
little perfume tester strips of the universe

far closer to the north star, the townsfolk hold their breath —
tonight's Atiq will be grand.

northern lights spring through and sprout
towards the glow-dusted town, rejoicing now,
tracing stellar strawberry marks

a new little one! they've named this aurora
'the one that never moves'
and the north star's scent lingers in my house
— even after it blinks out.

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