The Astronaut, a poem

I once loved a Girl that could fly
To the farthest lands,
To the broadest and bluest seas,
Across time itself.
Most of the time, She went to space.
She loved the feeling
Of floating away from the earth.
She would take a rope
And tie it around Her frail body –
Tightly. Carefully.
She would place it in my loose hands
And say “Bring me back.”
I was her guardian angel

She came to me in the night and
Wept Her stolen tears,
Her knees were scraped from the gravel and
Her vibrant and expressive eyes –
Once awesome and bright like the sun –
Burned out like a bulb
“Wanna go t’ space with me?”
No thanks, Astronaut.
“I ain’t gonna come back this time.”
I want to say no,
But who am I to keep her here?

We go to my room anyway.
The Angel pendent in Her hand,
Dusty and worn down,
Had come to life and carried Her up.
Up, up, and away
She jumped the space ship – cut the rope
Oh, mon dieu, mon ange*.
She looked like an angel to me.

_____

 Translation from French: Oh, my god, my angel.

_________

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