Whenever I am at my most suicidal,
I think back to my childhood
and how good it felt, easing my head back
in the upstairs of the Adler planetarium.
Those pinholes weren’t even real, but now
I no longer want to kill myself because
I remember how lucky all of this has been.
And then I think about the dark silhouettes
of Chicago skyscrapers against pink nights
and prairie. I get really sad about the cost
of airline tickets. So sad, that I start thinking
about the stars again and all their splendor,
especially when they are not even real.