I Was Named After Halley’s Comet, but It’s Spelled Wrong
—after Sylvia Plath
I am burning up in the atmosphere and there is no stopping it.
It doesn’t seem fair, the way I crashed into this life like a meteor
as full of flame and destruction as any heavenly object, falling.
Shining stone of my body, bright scar against grey, I’m not sure
how to tell you that the end of this light is near and ineluctable.
But I am loved, still, despite guilt, despite knowing that I don’t
deserve it. You say there is no such thing as deserve, and
I want desperately to believe you. Even though believing this
means knowing you know it too—that you don’t deserve me either.
But meteor showers are not so rare. And though the beauty is brief
and common, maybe my show of weaponized starlight will be bright enough
to be remembered until next time.
Hayley Bowen is an MFA student at Syracuse University. She lives in an attic with her pet moss ball, peat. Followable @_hbow.