50 years after the moon landing

I am flying over the Arctic Circle,

following the round edge of the earth,

mocha and blue,

as cloud shadows pass

far below.

The sun rests on the horizon's curve.

Following our path

just as it used to tailgate the car

on late drives home,

the moon waits at our shoulder.


While Aldrin and Armstrong walked on the moon

Collins orbited, alone on the farther side

sipping hot coffee, thinking of 3 billion

plus two


I’m thinking of coffee

at my mother's breakfast table

in brown Friendly Village mugs, the cream

in a tiny hotel-ware jug.


I am one of the bright lights

my sister and I watched from our sleeping bags

sheltered on one side by the house,

a cedar just behind us,

the night sky a treasure map,

wondering at those who travelled through it --

what did they know

that we didn't?

No matter how fast I go,

I will not catch

no matter how far,

I will not touch

the moon.

Lynn Caldwell's work was commended in the inaugural Fingal Poetry Prize and has been published in Dedalus Press’s anthology WRITING HOME; Crosswinds Poetry Journal; for March 2019’s Hennessy New Irish Writing Award; and Aesthetica’s Creative Writing Anthology; and has featured on Irish radio’s Sunday Miscellany. Lynn is a Canadian calling Ireland her second home.

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