Poems & Essays

21 Aug

Lost and Found

General/Column No Response

My youngest son wants to be
an astrobiologist. He’s ten.
Thrills to discoveries of water
on Mars and other heavenly
bodies. Life on distant planets,
even microscopic, possibilities
open like presents.

His brother, thirteen, prefers
stories of alien sightings
here on Earth. Unexplained
flashes in the night sky.
Conspiracy theories.
Cover-ups. He’s pretty sure
we’re not alone.

They both are.
One of the few areas
in which they agree.

All I know, as we lounge
around the campfire,
night sky inky overhead,
air crisp, is that if I lean
back, I can lose myself
in the dazzling immensity.
Lose myself and find myself —
that gaping void,
the stardust in our veins.

 

 

Jennifer Hernandez teaches middle school and mothers three boys — one in middle school, one in high school and one in college. Her recent work has appeared in Entropy, Mothers Always Write and Silver Birch Press, as well as Write Like You’re Alive (Zoetic Press) and Nine Lives (Chop Suey Books). She’s a member of the League of Minnesota Poets and performs her writing for the Cracked Walnut Literary Festival.

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