With the astronaut herself
I ran up to her funeral.
At her funeral was the telling of the cliffs above Mars
and the planets around Centauri.
Her husband and children were there weeping
through video channels and viewing devices.
Politicians and bureaucrats spoke about space air
and referenced the “distant cliffs” she’d walked above,
the “distant stars” she’d seen,
the t-shirts she wore,
and even the fluorescent green rain she farmed crops underneath.
When we walked up
they turned around amazed and looked up in shock.
Stricken with sweat and a pale white face,
someone spoke up and said,
“Holy Lazarus! It’s you! Captain Marsha Pinsky!
“It is me indeed, Graymont.
I have returned home, Colonel Graymont.
Was this what you were expecting?”
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
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