Later than bedtime, we stand
in the unpaved road looking up.
Neighbors not sure what to believe
as we search fixed constellations
for a single traveling light. Satellite.
Sputnik. The men of war
know the truth of bombs
masquerading as a field,
a field of moonlight. Mothers
count children in the dark
as we play hiding games
when suddenly, a red-headed girl
squeals and points toward
a slow moving star. A feeling
unfolds beyond fear and at seven
I already know I will remember
this night. How Bryan Flynn
found me and raced me back to base.
Bryan whose draft number
would be low. Who loved his old dog
and could pitch faster
than any of the other boys.
He would lose his life
while men walked on the moon.
Have you seen Star Link?
Low and slow, a satellite train.
Using my cell phone I can know
anything. I type in Bryan Flynn
and get thousands of hits. None
of them him except the power
of name. I remember
my mother rubbing her bare arms
that October, telling me how this night
would outlive us. How everything
we need to know is written in the sky.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 4.
Joanne Clarkson’s sixth poetry collection, Hospice House, was released by MoonPath Press in 2023. Her volume, The Fates, won Bright Hill Press’ annual contest and appeared in 2017. Her poems have been published in such journals as Poetry Northwest, Nimrod, Poet Lore, Alaska Quarterly Review and Beloit Poetry Journal. Clarkson has Masters Degrees in English and Library Science, has taught and worked for many years as a professional librarian. After caring for her mother through a long illness, she re-careered as a Hospice RN.
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