Stars
by Louise Glück
I’m awake; I am in the world — I expect no further assurance. No protection, no promise.
Solace of the night sky, the hardly moving face of the clock.
I’m alone — all my riches surround me. I have a bed, a room. I have a bed, a vase of flowers beside it. And a nightlight, a book.
I’m awake; I am safe. The darkness like a shield, the dreams put off, maybe vanished forever.
And the day — the unsatisfying morning that says I am your future, here is your cargo of sorrow:
Do you reject me? Do you mean to send me away because I am not full, in your word, because you see the black shape already implicit?
I will never be banished. I am the light, your personal anguish and humiliation. Do you dare send me away as though you were waiting for something better? There is no better. Only (for a short space) the night sky like a quarantine that sets you apart from your task.
Only (softly, fiercely) the stars shining. Here, in the room, the bedroom. Saying I was brave, I resisted, I set myself on fire.













