Heck yeah, I’ve gazed at her.
I even keep a record, so
I can track when and where
I’ve seen her. A pal texts
me ahead of time,
when she’ll be coming
and going. I hope to spot
her at least once more
before she glides away
for good, come Valentine’s Day.

250 miles above, she’s a bold
point of light, like a halogen
motorcycle beam cresting
into view. My front porch
view of the sky—god,
it’s better with her
passing by.

Frozen air trolls me,
when I gaze up and see
her crafting a winter’s tale,
like she did spring’s, summer’s
and autumn’s too. Others
mistake her craft for a common
jet plane. She’s much higher, cruising
faster than us mini pretzel eaters
craving miles by the thousands
for discounts by the hundreds.

For now in the heavens,
she is shining from a place
I’ve never been, in a club
I’ll never join. Her
photons on my face
arrive like a token—
better than a lock of hair,
pleasing like a helpmeet.

I gaze at her and think, yeah,
I’m ready to let it go—
the privilege I mean,
the boy’s club kind,
the patriarchal sort.
I tried joining Freemasonry
once. There were no chicks
there. Verily, verily, meh.

Poet’s Notes:

Earlier this month, astronaut Christina Koch reached 300 days in space, having already set a new record for longest single spaceflight by a woman. If you’d like to learn more about Christina, visit her NASA bio page. The featured image was taken back in 2013 during then astronaut candidate Koch’s survival training. (Image credit: NASA, Creative Commons License CC BY-NC 2.0)

For a poem on a similar theme, try Mother and Mary: The Makers.