Reclamation; The Astronaut Ages Out
By Linda Michel-Cassidy
Reclamation
A whale appears in the bay
ahead of schedule
and far from the Pacific.
Because we ache
for wonder these days,
we think this a good sign,
an omen of a new beginning
or some such nonsense,
despite her showing ribs.
We love seeing animals
in the wrong places—
which is to say, near us.
Bears in swimming pools,
an otter in someone’s house,
eating carrots in the bathtub.
When I lived in the high desert
a bighorn sheep stood
at the end of the road,
still as a mountain.
A family of rabbits
moved into my truck,
cozying the engine block
and nibbling the wires,
while chipmunks raced nightly
through the soffit,
as if patiently
or not so patiently
waiting
for me to move on.
The Astronaut Ages Out
Once escape velocity is achieved,
no further impulse need be applied
for it to continue in its escape
—Peter Roberts, Gravity
His favorite childhood books:
a collection of astronomy maps
and Le Petit Prince.
Picture him at eight
running an index finger along the pages
whilst jetting by his small self
all the way from Hong Kong
to a boarding school in France.
It was always about Mars,
every honor won, every brutal season,
bundled and wind-bitten
on a barren arctic island,
experimenting on the chances of water
in the saddest of dirt.
Try to fathom what a four years’ trip would mean.
Look up at the sky. Ask yourselves: Is it yes or no?*
A life spent waiting for the technology
to catch up to his dreams.
The math said it would be a one-way trip.
The math also said
that upon his forty-sixth birthday,
he was no longer fit to make
the impossible round trip.**
At forty-six-and-a-half,
he gives a lecture on a mountaintop
about the ways Mars will kill you,
which are at least five,
and answers every question
as if it were brand new.
Now, esteemed, yet Earth-bound,
he still looks for water—
no less astounded
by the size of it all.
* Le Petit Prince
**33.9 million miles, each way
This story originally appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 17.
Photo by Action Vance.