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When a shooting star glides across the night sky, and we close our eyes for a silent wish… are there rules preventing us from a wish to mingle with the stars themselves? This week, North Bennington poet Martha Hutcheson weaves Earthly decadence into the heavens above with the use of rich, warm, and more-than-edible metaphor.
I wish for the galaxies
By Martha Hutcheson, 11, of North Bennington
I wish to eat the moon, to feel its smooth, cold-pudding taste on my tongue.
It would slip around my mouth like a cool cheesecake, like milk chocolate.
It would quench my hunger with the ease and softness of a spoonful of oatmeal washed down with a glass of milk.
I wish to drink the stars, to taste them dripping down my throat,
as warm and foggy as hot chocolate on a cold winter’s evening.
Each sticky-smooth drop would ease through my body, relaxing me, soothing me.
I wish to eat the grandest meal ever eaten while sitting upon Venus’s rings,
watching the world spin around and around, watching a shooting star zip through the sky.
I’d catch it in my fingers and gulp it down like a bright and spicy piece of shrimp,
then close my eyes and float down along the Milky Way in a bed as smooth as a snowdrift.
I wish to spread my hands through the galaxies,
and fall asleep with my head resting on the sun.