Tonight's Poet Corner: I Want To Be An Astronaut

I Want To Be An Astronaut
by Belinda Roddie

If I shoot for the moon,
I will aim for a crater so that the dust
and shadows will soften my landing.

And when I look up, I will see
white confetti celebrating simultaneously
both my rise and my fall.

I have been so accustomed
to crashing that I will forget
not to look for the debris of my own pride,

and when I see fireworks, I will always
assume they are meant for someone else
rather than my own cosmic entrance.

My little rocket will whimper as
its legs buckle beneath it,
and I will carry its engine

to where the Apollo 11 American
flag once stood. The others remaining
are bleached white, stripped

of the patriotism painted
on their drooping smiles. Their eyes
are full of that same confetti. They, too,

are not used to so many people
watching. So many people wondering
if you'll leave footprints. In the sparse

moonlight, a show awaits those who still
wander on a dark man's face. The stars make
a circus out of an otherwise dead sky.