Last night in sleep
I was a blackbird on a wire outside a church. When the Sunday morning doors blew open, I flew in and perched behind rafter cobwebs in the back of the room, unnoticed by those gathered around a loaded AR-15 on the altar. Voices shot out; ricocheted off walls, shattered stained-glass windows, bulleted psalms blasted the silence - semi-automatic savior.
Space Sailor
I circle planets
swim nebula seas
navigate plasma cloud storms.
A tethered crew member,
I collect extraterrestrial samples
repair ship hulls, inspect satellite stations,
play cards, weightless, in the cabin.
Drink instant coffee and worry
life won’t be different upon reentry.
Debris left behind –
school shootings, skewed voting laws,
lost reproductive rights –
most likely still the shrapnel
of our own making.
The gravity of self-seeking
blinds us.
Blue stars tear up
because they can see
we are in the crosshairs
of an AR-15’s rifle scope
and may not even make it
across the street safely.
(first appeared in IceFloe Press' Geographies 2022)
