My Little Poem: stars

a Big Bend poem by Naomi Shihab Nye

Hello, Poetry Friend

For years I have saved a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye that appeared in an issue of Texas Monthly dedicated to all things Big Bend. The poem is untitled, but it comes with this description of the author: “Poet and novelist Naomi Shihab Nye has been visiting Big Bend National Park for decades. She lives in San Antonio.”

The poem is about stars, something we see more of this time of year. And about hope deferred.

Maybe we first met this arching dome
in dreams of what a life could be.
Sheer spaciousness, before hope
bent backward too many times,
breaking news breaking us.
In the vast immensity
a breath feels more at home,
released into place.
Never mind which star might be dead,
how long ago it died—
don't want to know.
Light taking forever to get here,
more precious when it arrives.
Far-ranging, brilliance to quietude,
legacies of patience, belonging, disappearing.
And if the stars do not remember us, they act otherwise.

–Naomi Shihab Nye

I began learning this poem by heart when the time changed, in November. And here we are, deep into Advent, and I’m finally getting it.

I have not been still enough. I have not been quiet enough. I have not wanted to ponder stars which “might be dead,” not even stars which “do not remember us” though “they act otherwise.”

When my spiritual director and I met the other day, I admitted that I like Advent more than Christmas. Waiting, I get. Hoping, I get. Penitence and patience, I get. The “brilliance” of the Incarnation can seem as far away as a Big Bend star, like a note that’s not really in your range, but there it is, on the page, so you sing it anyway.

The one time I went to Big Bend was with my dad in 2011, to mark the one-year passing of my mom. I am fortunate to live in a part of Texas with dark skies, but nothing like the night glory above far West Texas.

There are a lot of songs about stars. Even more, if you count songs about the sun. Behold, “the darkness around us is deep.” If you do know me, oh distant lights, please sing.

O come, O come, 
sunshine on my shoulder.
Do you see what I see?
A drop of golden sun
traversed afar, following yonder.
Stars: keep the watch.
The night is still dim.

–Megan Willome

Happy poeming!

Megan