Editor’s note: this poem speaks in the voice of a parent grieving a child.
When does a star shine brightest?
When does it burn the hottest?
When does it look the most beautiful?
Maybe if we were to know how tall you would have gotten, you’d be a duller star.
Maybe if we were to see how your face changed, you’d be a colder star.
Maybe if I’d been given the chance to try and heal the scars you didn’t get yet, you’d be a less beautiful star.
Maybe if your shoes had to be replaced once again, I’d see you smile.
Maybe if you ran out of ink once again and I had to get you a new pack, you would have told me why you were crying.
Maybe if you spilled water on your notebook once again you would have told us how much time you spent on that drawing.
Maybe if you sprained your ankle once again, I’d teach you how to stop the pain.
Maybe if I got another greeting card, the one from last year wouldn’t have been the last one I’d ever get.
Maybe if your legs hurt in the evening once again, I’d be able to tell you the pain was worth it
Maybe if you got your grades once more, I’d be able to tell you I was proud of you once again.
Maybe if I were to yell, I’d be able to apologize once again.
Maybe if you told me how you wanted to celebrate your birthday once again, I’d be able to set the candles for you, this time adding another.
Maybe if we played a game once again, I’d be able to let you win and even if you lost I’d promise you that you’d win next time.
Maybe if you danced to the music I played once again, I’d be able to play more songs for you.
Maybe if you told me you liked a book I gave you, I could’ve given you more and we’d talk about each one.
I don’t want to look up at the stars anymore, they don’t laugh or smile or play like you did.
I’d rather I was able to tuck you in than gaze at you from another galaxy.
I’d rather you were the weakest, dullest star.
I’d rather see you shine during the day and sound asleep at night.