Corresponding with Stars

I spoke with the solar system about the study-abroad

     program for women who hear the world 

     in minor notes. I have an unbreakable attention span

and a longing for minor planets, like the friend 

     who made cauliflower soup and poured you

     red wine in a paper cup when you were crying

after someone texted you a blurry photo

     of the moon. And while you ran out of the cabin

     to see it, all you saw were the small antlers

of a deer you named Closest Satellite. It’s hard

     to understand why we’re on this planet sometimes—

     this is why I’m requesting information from the stars

on an intergalactic possibility. I told them

     how eager I would be to receive a B+

     in astronomy, how I haven’t been sleeping well,

though am thankful for my electric blanket and lovers 

     who scratch my back and rub the inner part 

     of my wrist, a cosmos of tiny faint scars.