I.
In Escatawapa, where the crickets are louder than highway cars,
we drove out past my great-grandmother’s house,
following the dirt rode that led to open fields,
to the parking lot of a soccer stadium.
We piled blankets on the hood of the Rav4,
curling into the warmth of the engine,
and lay back to watch the stars start to fall.
The sky, deeper and darker out here,
Began to to slowly light with brilliant lines,
meteors flying from one end to the other,
moving so quickly that they blurred.
My eyes kept the image of burning space rock,
Blinking against the squiggles that appeared,
to see the brightest flash of them all cross the night.
Bright enough to leave shadows on our vision, a huge
meteor flew, as if in slow motion,
through the atmosphere. What made this one light,
this separate part of the whole, so different?
II.
Given that things move differently in space,
the slowly falling fire was just a flash in time.
Different way of burning, I thought at the light.
Like a phoenix, the meteor crackled at me,
new life in the brightest glow, lighting up
the night sky, soaring on flaming wings.
Flying south for the winter, the meteor sings
A song of rebirth, too high for earth to hear.
He will crash land in the branches of the galaxy,
Then blaze in his own beauty, his own glory,
Before settling down to a slow smolder of life—
A candle nestled in endless black—
To die and be reborn again and again.
Until his next time to fly.
