My Blue Marble
At the age of 37, my wife gave birth to my first child
and I walked on the moon.
The letter came to my office in
I knew the timing was bad, but I would go.
My life before NASA was spent mostly in caves,
we joked I would cope well with the darkness of space,
but in those three days in December ’72,
there was plenty of strange light and so little sleep.
People say I should take up a hobby,
but I can’t play chess, or golf, or collect stamps.
I look up to the sky
and judge every decision,
measure every choice I make,
against your wonder.
Now, I dream at least twice a week
of traipsing lightly on your surface
I took that photo of The Earth,
was the first to look through that view-finder
and see our Blue Marble.
Every moon-full night
I gaze at the bare beauty of your face,
384,403 miles away, but still more real to me
than any human features.
People say you are grey,
but I know your subtle hues,
your distinctive features.
People tell me I am starting to age,
I need glasses, am grey at the temples.
I spend a lot of time alone, outdoors
bird-watching and gardening
looking up to the sky.
I miss the Norwegian fjords too,
but it is your surface I hunger for.
I read the inadequacy
in everyone who hasn’t met you.
My eyes fix on their failures
I was the last person to step on to the moon,
but not the last to leave.
I still belong there.
Sarah L Dixon - Day 10 NaPoWriMo Persona poem