deep space
is to us
like the ocean
(too late for tall
ships and far
too early
for starships)
but any amateur rocketeer
can stuff her pockets with rocks
and sink,
there are no bug-
eyed monsters
staring up at us from
behind the stars,
and the thing most likely to kill
where no one can hear your
scream
short and shrill
is the loneliness.
just maybe the best
analogue, then,
is when
we close our eyes and follow
our breath
.one two.
and close our eyes
.three four.
with our breath echoing
.five six.
hollowly around us
like our skulls are
fishbowl space helmets
.seven.
no monsters here
.eight nine. i promise
.ten.
no fear here
of being
.one.
with
myself
.two.
.three.
 |
Josh Pearce has published more than 200 stories, reviews, and poems in a wide variety of magazines, including Analog, Asimov’s, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Bourbon Penn, Cast of Wonders, Clarkesworld, Diabolical Plots, Kaleidotrope, Locus, Nature, On Spec, Weird Horror, and elsewhere. Find more of his writing at fictionaljosh.com. One time, Ken Jennings signed his chest. |