star

you are a small child
you stand nearly crushed
by cold weather,
by the clutch of excitement,
by the press of a crowd,
by the pressure of your father's hand.
five miles away
mom boards a weird-looking plane
in weird-looking clothes.
the plane rises from flame
like a phoenix
and the plane goes up, and up, and up --
twice as fast as you can hear it --
and
dissolves into fire
like Icarus.
and that's all.
mom's gone
on the joyride of the century
and just isn't coming back.
surprise!
you thought you'd see her again.
surprise!
you won't.
such a cruel joke
with a million people watching
but you will probably get over it, they say.
they say your worst fears are over,
realized.
nothing
can hurt you now,
perhaps...
but grandma and grandpa
have just seen the end of their lives.
when they gave mom life,
after living through a war,
they thought they'd seen the worst
that eyes could witness
in one life.
now they know better
but the knowledge is no help.
now they only want to stop
learning.
dad is as a stranger
but you are there
still alive
and looking into his grey face
with the first of many questions
he cannot answer.
for you
he will go on living.
but how do you live
when your lover has left you
to become
a star?
what will he dream of
on summer nights after you have been put to bed?
falling
stars.

in memoriam Challenger - from next to the radio in Haines, Alaska,
January 28, 1986 - my heart to your families

by Sara, copyright 1999, all rights reserved