A Poem by Jackson Culpepper

In the Truck, in the Sky

It was not cold, must
have been spring. Leaving the fire,
we climbed into the back of the truck.
We watched the full moon,
the stars spinning through their hours,
the thin clouds sliding across
the sky, translucent. We talked,
teenage longings for girls, for what
we thought might be love. We spoke
to the stars as Orion rose heavy in the east.
As Delphinus, in a tiny patch, swirled around
the cosmic center. We may never talk
in such a way again. Still, today,
our hopes rise on certain pinlit nights,
and are pulled away by the spinning stars,
like those hopes we spoke without understanding
why we wished for them.
Scorpio's claws catch them
as he rises, or they draw to Sirius
as moths to a flame.

{Poem by Jackson Culpepper}