I’ve been invited to Mars.
I’m excited. What shall I wear?
I called my brother. He’ll come, too,
despite being a geologist
attached to this planet.
So am I. Gravity’s big fan.
I like when I sit down I don’t go up
and don’t float off like a balloon
while stepping on grass.
Still, it’s an opportunity too good to miss,
to jump off the Earth,
jet-setting into space,
saying good-bye to headaches & worries
unless like a fool I bring them along.
A new me will dawn
free of restraint
& commitment
& the loud neighbor’s dog
nothing but adventure
& the silence of starlight,
perfect blue & gold swirl
of the world
left behind.
I just read the fine print:
pay in full up-front:
I’ll miss my next birthday:
& though good health is required
& they pay for all doctors,
they can’t quite insure
the shape I’ll be in
on return.
Hm!
I called Brother again.
His wife says no.
Dang! I’m on my own.
But if I’m going to come back changed,
I may need to change before I go.
Toss out fear & insecurities,
cravings, greed, blind reaction,
the drive to know it all.
I can’t fit this baggage
in a spaceship cubbyhole.
Still, I’m up for the challenge.
Although not the party first imagined,
it might be my sole chance
to redo redress reconfigure
the way I think I’m made.
© April 4, 2014 | Carolyn White
