Frontiers are frontiers but once
The only thing I recall seeing clearly in the night sky
were all those stars I couldn’t identify.
I never spied Jupiter, Saturn or Uranus up close. I didn’t have
the right glass. Venus and the moon were obvious.
My father remembers Sputnik’s streaking light. Armstrong’s steps,
Cronkite’s glasses, Schirra’s speechless tears on CBS.
I witnessed the Challenger.
Frontiers are frontiers but once.
Just ask Alaskans as they collect their cheques.
Or Magellan’s children. Not to mention the People
of the Sun.
About the Author: Jeremy Nathan Marks is a London, Ontario-based writer. Recent poetry appears/is appearing in Unlikely Stories, Writers Resist, Poets Reading The News, KYSO Flash, Poetry Pacific, Rat’s As Review, The Wire’s Dream, NRM Magazine, Cajun Mutt Press, Eunoia Review, The Conclusion Magazine, Bravearts, and Runcible Spoon. His short story, “Detroit 2099,” will appear in The Nature of Cities Anthology later this year.
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Image Credit: Carol M. Highsmith “Children stand in wonder at a mural of astronauts at the Smithsonian Institution’s Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C.” Library of Congress