five moons wax and wane
Jewish holidays times 5
are exhausting
What I miss most about Earth is skiing. Mars has no snow. And swimming, sailing, flying.... Is it too late to change my mind?
Something native
Had infiltrated crop genomes
When spines and tentacles grew from our skin
It was too late
To go back to ship rations
Martians got quite good
over the Gy
at cracking hydrated minerals
no surprise they made short work
of the humans' tanks
airlocks
skin
Waking inside the glass coffin. Stumbling out of a row of identical tubes, all floored with bone and dust. New sun and a dozen worlds fill the viewscreen.
picking seeds from my teeth
one I missed is already growing in my gut
when it blooms
rose petals will follow
wherever I go
300 years
I dreamed you stayed on Earth
shriveled in your tube
Martian ice caves
I carve my initials
among the others
native "bird"
inflates its throat
transplanted sparrow
vanishes with a squawk
that sucks
a crystal dome
protects Mars' first lichens
from the sky
ancient ships
brought us from the home world
they're pitted, some tumbled
we don't need them now
we've learned to fly
Select 100% terran tuna, certified vat-grown on the home world before the Incident, and cryoshipped directly to the Capital ahead of the wavefront.
Neither Here Nor There, a rengay
frozen with you
a faded rose you picked
on sad old Earth
Ship had to wake me early
my tube was on the blink
under far-off stars
I play games with avatars
lose every one
sets its skill up or down
old 3D vids
with new endings every time
all comedies
cryodeck
and airlocks sealed against me
that one episode
plastic cutlery with meals
spoons only now
I run
shouting through corridors
not my nursemaid!
I’m splicing genes in roses
Ship will save the best for you
I look at the stars
some day Ship will let me have
a knife again
seaside bungalow on Titan
no chance of a house fire
but the smell in the mud room!
frozen with you
a rose you picked on Earth
color faded, unlike yours
Ship randomly
sets its skill at chess or bridge
higher or lower than mine
How many colony ships, crewed by the durable remnants of their crew and passengers, coast silently through the dark among the stars?
Not Like Fat Tuesday
throw me something
when the native trinkets hatched
they aimed for the face