Spinning the star chart between their flashlight beams 
As dusk yields and we climb out on the broad hill 

Evan stretches and locks the legs under the telescope 
While dad bands red cellophane across every torch 

Now match today’s date with 10pm and remember how 
To find north hold it up over your head shine this quick 

That bright one’s a planet remember how you know 
It doesn’t twinkle fireshade means it’s our neighbor 

Be gentle don’t bump it I’ve got Andromeda centered 
In the viewfinder but it will already have shifted slightly 

Gliding its trillion stars and their moons in millimeters 
Behind the local legends painted ancient on the dome  

Such early cold in the absence of the star on these blue hills 
And the darkness behind the trees at the edge of the meadow  

Profound half moon tonight did you hear that Evan says 
He’s just messing with you we’re safe anything out here  

Far more afraid of us than we need to be of it then why 
Are you whispering I didn’t mean to it’s just the sky  

It’s Cassiopeia and the great swan the clear white star 
Of Lyra and Ptolemy’s serpent raining stone and fire  

As every fall begins I know you spotted the bears 
Immediately but to see the hunter reach his bow above  

The land we’d have to wait for the night’s coldest hours 
And I know you’re cold already remember there’s cocoa  

In the thermos we’ll go back to warm the car soon 
But now look up at the galaxy’s pattern in giants  

Uninventoried matter and force trading places 
In each core and sweeping cloud of outflung fury 

Ellie Snyder is a poet from Montana, now living next door in Boise, Idaho. She writes and manages socials for a nonprofit helping people, pets and the planet. Read her work in The Blood Pudding, Fauxmoir, Pinky Thinker Press, In Parentheses and elsewhere, and find her on Twitter @egsnyds.