Of Star Guts and Satellites

-So;
what is it like, learning to grow?

-Well, first, there's a spark:
a kick in the core
of your nerves, like a light
blinking on through the dark. Then,
you've got to think
yourself into the part; ignore your
splintered limbs and learn to stretch,
fearlessly. Like roots into earth.
Question and answer.

-Does it hurt?

-Only being fearless. That's like having flint
stitched into your spine. But time,
you'll find, will heal these scars –
ours is the business of rebirth. Even cradled
in the hold of our half-formed words
we manage to pluck
the stars from our diaphanous skies,
and the chewed jewels from our throats.
That's natural selection for you.

-Or is it just luck? You see, I'm not
even sure how to find my feet
right now, let alone play dot-to-dot
with constellations.

-But you must understand
that the world is full of such complications.
Tracing the veins beneath the surface
isn't the same as finding your pulse
in the first place.

-I get that. But space -
what does that have to do with anything?
Lose the metaphor: you can't confuse
Orion's Belt with rib-bones, or the Big Dipper
with your intestines. They're not remotely
comparable!

-But don't you see? They are.
For we are all born from the insides of stars -
we wear the indelible fingerprint of the universe,
and bear the pockmarks of each black hole
that’s sucked our bones. Spat
from star guts; that's us! We're snips
of trails of comet tails: by-products
of the Milky Way.

-Wait – so now you're saying
we’re cosmic waste? That galaxies
are a scatter of snapped synapses;
fractured nerves splayed
across the universe,
I can believe – but that we
may have sparked from that same circuit?
That our spines once lined
the stomach of some supernova?
What does that make us –
foetal stardust?

-Not exactly. We’re more reflections
of the sun, undone. Like a litter
of moons, we glow echoes, refracting shards
of glass and wisdom equally. Our path
is one of satellites, wound round our hearts;
and it's these glimpses
of poetry, flickers of meteor showers,
that help us grow.

-But you said growing was a stretch,
a flash of light and the spreading of roots
through rock. Question
and answer.

-And that's right.
You've got to have your feet
planted firmly on the ground
and s t r e t c h
before you can learn anything profound.
Sometimes in the asking, you'll find
the answer. Other times, you've just
got to learn to stop staring at the sun
and look around, above, beyond
the obvious.

Be fearless:
persevere, and
keep reaching for those stars -
'cause only when you rise
can your mind open
to the skies.

* * *

This is a piece of performance poetry which, hopefully, will be performed by a couple of my amazing friends at our school's Leavers' Concert in a couple of weeks time.

Hence some of the cliché images - trust me, this is a lot less soppy than the original version!

Inspired by my poem Paper Planes which is apparently one of my friends' favourite pieces of mine, and was the front-runner to be performed. But it wasn't very suitable, so I kind of took it and rebuilt it in a different form. Hence some of the borrowed lines/ideas in this.

This is also inspired by an amazing poem I read a while ago now by mintleaves which is far cleverer and more poetic than mine. It's where the image of 'star guts' comes from. So thanks for the inspiration!