The astronaut

(image by Leticia)

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.