I never wanted to be a spaceman

it’s just that I can’t stop myself from         floating.

He tells me if the sun should die

for 10 minutes we could hold onto light

could keep all 10 toes affixed to the ground, and then–

I never wanted to be a spaceman.

When he was a child he dreamed of stars,

I was busy watching the moon

He tells me if the sun should die;

an infection of buoyancy, an engulfing of our veins,

lightsick. My mind wanders off, it’s hung on the…

I never wanted to be a spaceman.

Won’t you find me a thumbtack?

Puncture, stick, remain. Newtonian calculations.

He tells me if the sun should die

and we have defined duration

it was enough, though I’m not so sure, after all;

I never wanted to be a spaceman

until he told me the sun should die.

---

KIANA McCRACKIN is a writer, a photographer, a cloud gazer, and a mother. She currently resides in South Dakota where she is learning what the wind has to say and translating what the trees tell her. Kiana has work published and forthcoming in various literary magazines, is a reader at MEMEZINE, and can be found on IG @she_arranges_words