Life on Mars

Jean Paul Ferro

In a cone of yellow light the spaceship came over me,
up I was lifted into their city of true believers,

colorless cities of light, spherical with the same oneness
only found in nature, all of our past heroes already there:
Anaïs Nin,
Aristotle,
Picasso,
H.P. Lovecraft,
Kurt Cobain;

and they had redwoods and tall waterfalls and orange
hued canyons, deep blue oceans full of whales and mile
long squid,

and in their deep green sky existed all their gods all of the time,
and I was naked and perfect and unafraid at every turn and
moment,

and over the airwaves they had me repeat my lines,
broadcast it out into their perfect minds that could hear
every thought all of the time.

And at night in my new home I lie there awake, staring up
into their bright green sky,

not thinking about God who was right there, but dreaming
about you instead, your naked body clutched tightly up against
my soul that was trembling,

the scent of wood smoke on us like when we were wet and out
camping,

dreams of our dog and the ice storm when the electricity went out,
how everything was frozen like platinum;

and you quoted Anaïs Nin right before the power came back on:
We don’t see things as they are, we see things as we are, you
whispered;

and right then the telephone rang as the lights came on up; and it was
your father calling, frantic, to tell you that your mother had died.

 

    |     forward

return to home

//]]>