And dust covered Caroline’s rose.
Sand left to blow between the cacti
and scatter by scorpions’ legs
finally settling for the night on
the black pettles in place of dew.
She saw the dust in the sky and drew
it down where it could only fade, not
disband. A singular interpretation,
an anomaly, hidden between the sheets
of a girl’s journal. All the while,
the world continued to turn the pages
of masculine calculations waiting
for the wind to flip the page
of the rose-colored book.
Countdown to seconds dying,
countdown to five then four.
I want to keep my promise.
If only I could say ‘I’m sorry.’
Countdown to the days left behind,
countdown to three then two.
I want our last kiss to stretch.
If only we’d finished that book.
Countdown to one.
I left a note on the mirror.
I want to send out a big Thank you! to everyone that has read and enjoyed my poetry throughout Global Astronomy Month. Hopefully, everyone has found a connection with one piece or another. It’s been a blast writing so much this past month, although I won’t lie at times I didn’t know if I would make it! Now I’ll get back to aiming for a poem a week (and hopefully more). Please let me know if you like anything and I’m always happy to hear from anyone. If you have any questions about my poetry or just want to talk about astronomy and/or poetry please feel free to email me at ameejhennig(at)gmail(dot)com.
How’s a little rocket going to hurt anybody?
Henry’s daddy boomed waving the smoking engine .
The police officer shook his head, hiding his frown
behind dark glasses. Henry’s reflection shuffled its toes
in one lens and Daddy’s spit flecked on the other.
The smoky astronaut saluted, his melted parachuted fluttered.
When Annie turned ten she unwrapped a ten-inch telescope.
In the mirror; freckles, braces, and the hint
of a first pimple. That night Annie discovered her planet.
Daddy! He looked, he squinted, he fiddled. It’s a star, honey.
Annie looked again. She scoured the skies convinced, never
forgetting the gray hills and ditches, curling and twining.
Mom says, flour’s missing. He walked on the moon.
The step, that leap, for mankind and he kept trying
to get it. Arms out stiff but be bouncy, slow, hold
it but muscles shake. Don’t pounce. The moon dust didn’t fly
up like this. Hands on apron-hips. What did he do wrong?
Feathers and hammers should hit the ground together.
It blasted off the ground shaking and the giants
waking, grumbling that Jack found his way. The heroes
holding their breath over countless candles. The dragons,
flame and smoke so far away but I can feel the ash build
in me, a wish. They are sitting on gold. Daddy pats his chest,
and with a squeeze to my hand he sighs, What a shame.
Card board box is the new silica ceramic
made by the brightest minds in the crayon box.
Add construction paper buttons and marker
for what-does-what just like in the movies.
Jenny wore that helmet for one month and two
days until Daddy slipped it off one night in her Zzzz’s.
Jenny woke up and brushed her teeth till
eyes bugging, hands to throat, airplane-ing down.
Mommy asked Daddy about total recall
but Jenny was under the table ‘puh’-ing.
Fourth graders found evidence of Neptunians
on the playground. Archeological find of the infin-tury,
got there in card board boxes parked in spot 32,
temples were buried under the blue air-freshener clouds
and beanstalks poked through challenging
the giants to climb.
Today Sam became an astronaut. With a certificate
and it’s certified ‘Mom.’ Perfectly blew out candles
on the big-red-spot cake in one breath and now,
just hold the breath all the way if Sam can.
The future is past the stars and moon-walking
is a must. It says right here, “Commander.”
Fin found it in a crater; big, bright, and brilliant,
the perfect piece to begin a collection of mysterious
(possibly filled with life forms) meteorites. It was there
in the distant planet of Arizona. Most of it was gone now
disintegrated over hundreds of years, but this piece
this chip of something non-terrestrial was Fin’s.