Betelgeuse

When the baby woke me at 5,
I noticed Orion’s belt out my window
In the dark sky of the new moon.
And when the baby continued to fuss,
I carried him out, into the cool night air,
And we looked up at the faint Milky Way,
And especially at Orion, the hunter,
With a right shoulder made of the
Tenth brightest of all stars,
Magnificent Betelgeuse,
Whose name, “Beetle Juice,” sounds little
Like the “Bay Tell Goose”
I wanted to say as a girl.

It fascinates me that a “brighter” star does not
Necessarily mean bigger, but simply that
The pinprick of light emanating is more
Eye catching, more piercing.

It fascinates me that, of all the thousands of things
To see in the night sky through the year, there are only
Twenty-one stars of the brightest magnitudes.
Twenty-one.

Once you know Orion’s belt,
It’s easy enough to find his right shoulder,
And greet Betelgeuse, number ten.
Then only twenty more friends to know by name,
Like Sirius, Arcturus, and Alpha Centauri,
Whose names are a poem themselves.