FETCH A CALLING STAR, a bedtime story for children, was published in an anthology called Nightlight.

FETCH A CALLING STAR

Late one night

Under the eaves

In a beach cottage with no beach breeze,

I lay on a hot cot between scratchy sheets.

A line of yellow light glowed

Along the bottom of my bedroom door.

I eased out of bed and pushed against the swollen wood.

Pop. The door opened.

I padded down the hall,

Toward the light, tiptoeing over the creaky boards.

Daddy sat at the kitchen table.

He looked up in surprise.

One finger flew to his lips:

“Don’t wake Mama and the baby.”

An almost blank pad lay in front of him,

Next to it five yellow pencils

With sharp black tips.

One yellow bulb lit the gloom,

Wads of paper littered the room.

“There’s a story in my head, but the right words won’t come.”

He crumpled a page and tossed it to the floor.

“The words will come when they want to, Daddy.”

I patted his arm then walked toward the door.

“Daddy, the sheets are hot and the air feels thick.”

Daddy stood up so fast, the chair tipped.

He caught it just as fast, before the crash.

“Time for a camping trip.”

We grabbed two little pillows from the couch

And Mama’s old tablecloth,

The one with blue roses, fat red birds and a big burn hole.

Out the door and onto the rolling dunes,

We walked under the thin thin grin of the yellow moon.

The sand felt cool and wet between our toes.

Close to the water, we sensed a whisper of ocean breath.

Daddy found a spot, a hill of sand at our back,

The waves before us.

Daddy looked straight up into the sky and sang:

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket

Never let it fade away

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket

Save it for a rainy day.

I sang, too, calling out words across the waves

And over to another shore, another country.

I leaned upward, stretching, listening.

Would a star call my name?

Then we lay back on the tablecloth

Staring at the shimmer-glimmering stars and the black black sky,

Until the damp seeped into our bones

And the cool breeze became cold cold cold.

We stood

With inside-arms wrapped around each other,

A pillow under each outside-arm,

And Mama’s tablecloth over our heads and shoulders.

A plump two-headed ghost,

We trudged up and down the dunes,

Heading home under the all-but-gone moon.

As Daddy tucked me between cool smooth sheets, I asked,

“What does it mean to fetch a calling star?”

Daddy chuckled, “Fetch a calling star?”

He kissed my forehead and whispered,

“Maybe it means to stay true to your dreams….”

The floorboards creaked.

On went the kitchen light.

I knew he’d write the rest of the night.