• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 05
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I once met the Obamas, visiting the program
the way celebrities do. Clint Eastwood too.
Shutters clicked and when they’d gone
we wondered why they’d bothered coming.
I have to tell you: the earth is huge
like nothing anyone has ever seen.
The space station - several boosts away,
and everything else is prehistoric:
remote as pigswill and slurry
in my grandpa’s Virginia farm yard;
the viaticum in rural sick houses.
Even my wife pursing her lips
to kiss or fret is an undeciphered
scrawl in the dust of a desert cave.
Sure, I could see your house from here
if it wasn’t for the weather
but I’m not looking anymore.
I’ve closed my eyes against the overkill
and all I can think is how soft, how perfect
Michelle Obama’s hands are,
how surprisingly strong her grip.