Leah Cashin / 12 (BARE staff)
Stars lay spread out
in the night sky. They hang
there, a work of art;
they live.
They are bright shards of glass
that pierce through dark
depths. He dreams of space —
a black pit, a place to search
and a place to find
as he sits
in the small bed.
How did we get here? Why are we here?
He asks out loud with no one
to hear him but the moon.
He looks to the face of John Glenn,
taped to his wall. If he can
then I can — so I will.
His thoughts are as plain as that;
his goals are as clear as that.
He grasps at them, picks at them like straws.
Ten years pass.
He is not in space,
he is not filled with awe,
he does not gaze out at the
stars from up there, high in the sky.
But he is still the boy that dreamt.