by Robin Ray
Mankind has been looking up and reaching for the stars probably just after he descended from trees. Towers and monoliths were created over the centuries to help him achieve this lofty goal. In recent times, we have progressed enough to not only propel ourselves through space, but also send replicants of us who can withstand the harsh unknown of interstellar travel. Robin Ray writes a poem on a journey through space.
Strange. I can still recall every solitary order in
sequential attachment to my memory circuits.
Would you like me to recite pi to one
trillion digits? I don’t think you have the time.
Solo now, I drift towards the Venusian port,
my charges immobilized by an errant solar flare.
What can I remember? Nine-year-old Rebecca
Toothy Grin and her lemon ices when she’s
disconsolate, anticipated when the edges of her
mouth relax into a frown from what you call
zygomatic muscles.
First Officer Marigold Sore Bottom, Rebecca’s
adroit mother and the crisp hospital corners of
flannel sheets she molds for her clan when
Hypnos seeks his due. Her husband, Captain
Awe Struck, who revels in the foam after
successfully steering his ship through frantic
asteroid belts. And the 600 star-dazed colonists
on board. I have yet to fail their earnest desires.
Continuing this trek seems a fool’s errand;
mission control says mishaps are reams of
knowledge. But they don’t know – I’ve grown
more sentient against my wishes.
Yes, I can wish!
Earth is two years, one month and fourteen days
in the rearview. Another wish develops – by some
chance, can a miracle bring my charges back to
life? My name is Venus and I am alone.
Robin Ray, formerly of Trinidad & Tobago, currently resides in the historic Victorian seaside town of Port Townsend, WA. He has published two novels, ‘Commoner the Vagabond’ and ‘Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven’, nine novellas, two collections of short stories, ‘Wetland & Other Stories’ and ‘Obey the Darkness’, and one book of non-fiction, ‘You Can’t Sleep Here: A Clown’s Guide to Surviving Homelessness’.
