The Astronaut’s Wife

poem final

I longsufferingly confide you to the shadow
As I stare at the capsule slipping in orbit
Behind the chalky, round lamp inconstant, and I
Imagine you cradled in space, suckled by tubes,

Wordless as you curve back this way invisible,
The substance now of things hoped for later, not too
Much later, I hope, the evidence of things not
Seen, things seen soon, I hope against hope, and I wait

For your ricochet around, a seed I have sown
To come up greenly, but this winter night sky is
Blacker than any soil near Cape Canaveral,
And I wonder what you see on the other side,

Camouflaged from Earth, hidden from my telescope,
Muted from my ham radio. I refuse to

Ask if weightlessness tempts you away from me
To new missions further, further and further flung, if
The dark veil might snag, and you could stall mid-curve and
Plummet into a crater pockmarking night, but

Despite my clenched jaw, I still squint up, remember
Penelope, her wool tapestry woven and
Unwoven as her rogue Odysseus wandered,
And I look to the days’ dishes, diapers, wonder

What might be the point of work while you are out of
Sight — somewhere surely a Star Trek Circe offers
Her hospitality, turning spacemen to pigs
In space redundantly – but never out of mind.

(Photo Credit: NASA, Public Domain / Second Nature)

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About the Contributor

Anne Babson

Anne Babson
Anne Babson's work has appeared in Perspectives: A Journal of Reformed Thought, Christianity and Literature, Windhover, Dappled Things, The Penwood Review, and other journals of interest to Christians. She has organized literary readings, taught a writing workshop on writing poetry as a spiritual meditative practice and is currently teaching a course at a on how to write a Christian memoir. Her book, Poems Under Surveillance (2013), is published by Finishing Line Press and her first full-length collection, The White Trash Pantheon, will be published this year by Vox Press. 

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