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


beyond.


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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