The Songs of the Himalayan Star Children
A chorus arose over the smoking glade, the last outpost of the Himalayan Star Children. They had arrived as rain does to the sleeping, lightly disappearing for years from kickball games, eluding their hardheaded folks, scent tracking dogs and college basketball scouts. Once so plucked, they may wander in flux for a time, from milk carton to milk carton, scudding through bus stations, white vans, and uncertainty. Yet soon, all is delivered, and in them awakes a thirst for song. Once born, neither the Jaws of Life nor Ted Williams' flailing regard can bend its shining pitch.
"o polished bride, evermore burnishing airport terminals
inchoate groom, host to rotting bouquets
forever will the priest give his exposition
reassuring the air six inches past his nose
fifteen prosthetic suitors may confer upon you
as ants upon a skittle
but remember us, as you would your own courage
in the strangeness of the gloaming
and see how we better the sky with cricket legs
and open palms"
- By Anders Knutson