POETRY MAY 1, 2013
You were my crib;
then my cellar cell, whose overhead
door I banged on night
and day to wake you; then my grave—
but no, you weren’t a coffin
exactly. I was in—
suspended animation. Inside an escape pod.
Nightly your computer took a breath for me.
26,000 years later,
as the hatch blew open, I rubbed
nuggets of sleep
from my eyes. I breathed an air
whose purity made me faint
then stared stupidly at the new sky. Volcanic
music, a seltzer ocean, warm nights—the homeworld is
now. You took me so far.