July 2, 2013The Space Traveler’s Moon
Tucked behind an obscure gas giant,
tiny, shaped like a kidney bean—
but I had it registered as mine
for a small fee and now have
a certificate to hang in the ship
and a place to visit on holidays
and for picnics. The sky’s dominated
by a ringless planet rarified enough
to float in a bathtub (a large one)—
and planetrise is watching
the curtain lift at a Grand Opera:
orchestral swell; swirls and storms
near enough to touch, as if a finger
dipped in its surface might ripple out
progressively larger circles. Certainly
there’s no air or vegetation, and very
little gravity. No place is perfect.
I dream (what kind of space traveler
wouldn’t?) of planting organic
ground cover, having contractors
put in an atmosphere, and a nice
surface liquid. Perhaps one day,
a species. At some point the notion
of making overtakes the notion
of finding. Just because there was
a planet inhabited by creatures
like me, where I saw silhouettes
in the rockface and even weeds
had a pleasant familiarity, doesn’t
mean there is.
from #38 - Winter 2012