Reading Time: 1 Minutes
When daddy went to the moon,
I sat quietly at home, moonless.
I thought to myself: I’d eat it all,
and the crust of the earth,
if I wanted to. I don’t care about
mapping that cold. I already know
what’s there all gray scale
and massive. My father once
handed me a map. It had a key
made of little raised markings—broken
beer bottles, but no way to land
on the moon. There was just
the impression of that old county
line we’d cross over and a hint
of the old milkweed in the air.