The night I learned you had lifted off,
I laid awake in bed in my favorite
flannel PJs - the ones with the moons
and rockets you always made fun of
and I refused to throw away because
they made me feel a little closer to
being the astronaut I always wanted to.
I laid awake in bed studying the
peeling paint on the ceiling, patched
with fading stars we sticked together,
one of us floating in zero gravity
and the other giving instructions
on where each of them should be placed
according to a printed quadrant diagram.
Well, a thought crossed my mind then
that would take another 76-year period
to be be visible to the naked mind's eye
again: I would have to fix things all by myself,
my sky falling down, I might need to fight
my fear of heights and borrow a ladder,
a rocket, a spaceship or an umbrella.
I might need to fight my fear of heights
and my fear of love to reach for my stars
so they could have the chance to make it to wishes
so I could have the chance to come true, all by myself.
You see, I needed no help, and you may think of it
as one small step for a man, but it looks like
a giant leap for this woman here.
(PS.: I miss the talk of nebulas and meteors and I do miss the feeling of sharing galactic coordinates and constellations, but like the moon, I've gotten used to living with my phases, I'm learning my path unhurriedly, and I'm fine with being alone.)
Posted to We Write Poems prompt #83
A few notes of interest:
- This is an experimental poem in an experimental tone, it's 3:30 in the morning and I would like to read it but I'd wake up the house, so I may come back when the sun is up with an update.
- Because I'm trying to make blogging simpler, I'm bringing everything from my other poetry blogs into this one. This poem doesn't sound any nicer in Portuguese, reason why I didn't include a version.
