Under the Stars

Look up, said mother.
Isn't it beautiful!
I was young.
I didn't see, then,
sky full of diamonds,
sparkling on velvet.

Black, freshly turned earth
in an April garden
seemed pretty,
but the sky, that night,
was simply night sky,
darkness, not quite black.

Why didn't I see
what everyone else saw,
bright comets
and constellations?
Soon after that night
I was wearing glasses.

Sometimes I still wish
for ignorant evenings,
not to see
some ways of this world.
But, rosy or not,
these days, I wear glasses.