My Mother Teaches Me How to Stargaze
Before I was born, my parents’ first accident was
the day after they bought insurance. So as a child
I was always afraid of cars, thought the moon was
chasing us each time my mother drove me home
from swimming lessons. She bought too many toys
when I was born, so moving to Jersey meant
months of packing. The night we were supposed to leave, she
showed me a photo of the Chinese restaurant we ate at
every week and tried to shape it into something I could
keep. Retold the stories of the Monkey King in a language
I could remember so I would never be afraid
of all the places I had yet to visit. Then, when it was dark
enough, she tried to show me the Big Dipper but all I could see
was the moon spilling over the big, black trees
as I pointed at the stars and mistook them
for airplanes. She said isn’t it amazing, that there are so many
people flying, up there, people flying
a million miles away? A few evenings each year, for as many years
as we can remember, the night air will swell with cicadas & the
clouds will limp all the way from Chicago to remind me
what winter means. I still can’t find
the Big Dipper in this New Jersey sky, the stars playing hide and seek
with the blotted skyline. My mother will always feel when I am
staring at the stars, watching the space between them, ready to see.
the day after they bought insurance. So as a child
I was always afraid of cars, thought the moon was
chasing us each time my mother drove me home
from swimming lessons. She bought too many toys
when I was born, so moving to Jersey meant
months of packing. The night we were supposed to leave, she
showed me a photo of the Chinese restaurant we ate at
every week and tried to shape it into something I could
keep. Retold the stories of the Monkey King in a language
I could remember so I would never be afraid
of all the places I had yet to visit. Then, when it was dark
enough, she tried to show me the Big Dipper but all I could see
was the moon spilling over the big, black trees
as I pointed at the stars and mistook them
for airplanes. She said isn’t it amazing, that there are so many
people flying, up there, people flying
a million miles away? A few evenings each year, for as many years
as we can remember, the night air will swell with cicadas & the
clouds will limp all the way from Chicago to remind me
what winter means. I still can’t find
the Big Dipper in this New Jersey sky, the stars playing hide and seek
with the blotted skyline. My mother will always feel when I am
staring at the stars, watching the space between them, ready to see.
March / April 2023
Heather Qin (she/her) is a student from New Jersey. Her work has been recognized by the New York Times, the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, Breakbread Literary Magazine, Columbia College Chicago, and can be found in Kissing Dynamite and The Shore. Besides writing, Heather loves classical music and reading.
Art: Aiyana Masla. Cleanse. Watercolor