Today's poem is by Judy Katz

Astronauts
       

Tucked into the top bunk you call Heaven,
your sister fast asleep on Earth,
you wait for those final moments
before the day's gates close
to hurl your most pressing questions
into the dark...When did time start?
Where is everything that died?
One night you said if Dad and I had just been astronauts
we would have understood everything —
as if all the mysteries of living
would be perfectly clear
if only we could get enough distance.

. Lying beside you, eyes closed, the night sky
opening within me, I felt myself floating
weightless, and I pictured the earth.
There were no trees or people or bread or cars.
It looked like that photo we've all seen
taken from space — the blue and green sphere
with veils of white around it. I found it wholly
unfamiliar, almost unlovable. In the dark
I felt your skinny arm next to mine.
We didn't say another word that night,
just lay there drifting with our questions.

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Copyright © 2023 Judy Katz All rights reserved
from How News Travels
Silverfish Review Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission