Orion, the seven-studded constellation, lit my teenage winter nights, still, God-like, fitted in the sky. He was my first true love: the cold, unflinching body grafted of fire, specks of light that perfectly formed a man. I filled in his skin in my mind on the slate of nightsky and waited each evening for his appearance to grant me sleep, imprinting my days with hope for the strength of boys and men to come, though I somehow knew already such comfort would be seasonal and often distant.
Holly Phillips