Not Just for Kids

I woke up in the wrong room. Four

seconds before I placed myself—

the window's angle off, the floor

creaking different, the shelf

above the bed at the wrong height.

Someone else's laundry smell.

Then the hallway: small orange light

on the baseboard. A star. A shell

of a star. My cousin's. Low light,

the baseboard its source. I stood

in the doorway. All the night

still night around it. I could

have found the couch with my eyes shut.

I stood there anyway. The small

orange cut of light. The glut

of dark around it. That's all

it was. Went back eventually.

Lay down. The star still going at six,

still orange, still patiently

against the dark. Some things you don't fix.

You just stand in front of.