By: Samantha Wright
the comet shadowboxes in the falling of her brief flight
and yet,
as she passes by,
trailing stardust,
she points at the world,
to feel her sweltering is to taste a genesis apple,
she speeds the outer limits
as a sunburnt pioneer,
piquant as the flavor of a lemon,
she is a beatnik with a bit part,
a charm cleaving the night’s black heart,
some call her electric and
others know her as Sally,
and some think she flies because of a midnight contract—
coming down to earth
where starlit Hollywood
meets Orion,
balanced as the grandest of archers
astronauts vault themselves up,
challengers with strong arms
in a race between Norse gods reaching for astronomical heights,
even in high and dry deserts
descending into erosion,
one can imagine the heft of heavens
the zeitgeist of bridges, silent film, and space—
Marco Polo may live in turquoise pools,
but the sky belongs to erupting volcanoes,
the sky belongs to hovering flames.
Samantha Wright lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, Tony. A graduate of Western Washington University, her poetry has been published by Philadelphia's Moonstone Arts Center, Showbear Family Circus, and University of Baltimore's Welter magazine.
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