Dipping a toe back in

[ezekielsdaughter]

Instead of editing something old, I began to play with something new.  I wanted to see if I could purposely write a SF poem.

First Contact

Heat lighting they called it when I was a child: that

mirage of nightly flashes, that promise of

danger with the assurance of distance.

There is no such thing.

Distance, I mean, when coupled with

safety.  You would think that we knew that by now.

Every time you appear on my television screen

the image flickers.

Sunspots, the commenter says.

Interference says another.  Some country is

jealous that one ship can land in only one place

and that place is ours.  At briefings, everyone marvels 

while cursing the cameras that cannot capture your glamour.

Heat lighting is as good a name as any. 

A storm is coming

and on the other side of the ionosphere,

a silent thunder roils.