July, 1969

By Peggy M. Verdi

Once I saw the flickering
Black and white Zenith television
Fuzzy images of men
Walking on the crusty moon. She is not with us.
Cremation- memorial
A gray box on ashes
Pushed behind the outrageous orange hat
She bought that year in Key West.
Scientists-physicists, rocket launchers
Sent them to the moon, brought them home safely.
Countless start, like cancer cells
Multiply, shine, live on.
Friday, she died-overwhelmed by disease
That Sunday, men walked on the moon.
Every year, an anniversary, a celebration
Every year black and white astronauts
Conquer space, set a flag on moon’s unfriendly home
Every year we face our future lives alone.