I toss in bed beset by insomnia watching the dark night from a slit in the curtains. I can see the stars tonight shining a light I know is four years old. They are beautiful all the same. I squint and make out the Big Dipper a soup ladle in the sky. It is comprised of seven stars and each one has a name. Last summer on a camping trip with Mom and Grandma they rattled off the names in a kind of chant-song that long ago schools bothered teaching. Greek sounding names at least to me.
The clouds shift and now there is just a handle suspended in heaven.
I hear the front door opening and someone come into the house.
Aunt Debbie!
Voices Mom’s and hers. I strain to make them out. But they become muted they’ve probably settled themselves on the living room couches. With tea.
