In space, you don't matter.
In space, I'm the important one.
You, bacteria on the earth,
Are nothing to me.
I see you no more,
Fly from your foolish embraces
And leave you tied to ground,
Forced to live without dreams.
In space, I am in my dream.
I turn, exult, dance with grace.
No finger points to posture or
Slight dyspraxic inelegance;
Tumbles on dance floors.
There is no hurt, no scar, no memory of abuse.
In space, no one can hear me scream.
Which is fine.
In my celestial imagination
I no longer need to scream.
A poem written in a workshop yesterday from the prompt “What can you see when you blast into space?” Participants were given three minutes to write.
If you like, write poetry or prose for yourself from that prompt. Be as strict with your three minutes as the workshop leader was with us.
