“Between” by John Grey
There’s always a planet to return to.
Memory cracks just enough
to pilot me from the pitiless outskirts of Andromeda
to the warm hearth fire of home.
These burning stars are not devoid of loved ones.
My eyes can penetrate the heart of the scorpion
to a butterfly cluster of familiar faces.
My hands can feel their way from crater
to cold cupric metals to flesh’s unforgotten favors.
Asteroid fragments arc snowy boots before the radiator.
Faint filaments of nebula are just ice melting into tiny pools.
For every cloud of dust and gas,
there’s footprints in the hall and the heartbeat of what made them.
Every day, I ponder over data, inquire after humanity
|John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East, and Midwest Quarterly.|