an abecedarian
Aliens you call us, bug-eyed, robotic,
but we know you better than you
can know yourself. Not really
divine, but gifted with knowledge,
educated in physics, anti-matter,
fairy tales. Slung from the stars, we
go boldly. We press light sabers,
heavy, into your hands. Anoint you
intrepid traveler, guided by the
James Webb telescope’s honeycomb mirrors
known for mapping the expanding universe in
light years. With second sight, you dodge
meteoroids, strung like a shining necklace of
nebulae. Then orbit the Dog Star, Polaris,
Orion pulling his deadly sword from his belt.
Pluto, demoted to dwarf, sighs for
Queen of the Galaxy, donned in the splendid
rings of Saturn. Mind-meld with us, our
starship awaits. Venture warp-speed
to the frontiers of space. Linger a while
under Ursa Minor, drink from the dipper.
Voyager, be brave-hearted and bold.
When you take flight, blast past the horizon.
X-ray vision, one of your new powers, allows
you to see, across the cosmos,
zillions and zillions and zillions of stars.
Crab Orchard Review, Spring 2026