Pandemic Skies

One day my daughter takes me
to the bathroom in the dark.

She turns her flashlight on
and we see stars
on the ceiling.

Holes cut in foil and taped to the ends
of toilet paper tubes, create
Virgo, Libra, Big Bear, the moon—

She’s made a planetarium
of our bathroom.

Katie Kemple (she, her, hers) writes poetry in San Diego, by way of D.C., Boston, and upstate New York. Her work has recently appeared in The Racket, The Sock Drawer, and Tiny Seed Literary Journal, among others.