Poem

She called it a picnic on the moon
I suppose she’s right
it may be wrong to be here
as children change
parents grow older
and wars intensify

The not belonging gives me place
brings me peace
floating weightless, free
on a moving sea
sometimes alone but never lonely

I share my blanket with a friend
the blackness illuminated
we look at earth
and think about missing it
wondering if the tether will break
or snap us back from this place

But for now we stay

transfixed by the moment
taking it in
enjoying this feast
and respite on our journey

by Catherine Franklin, May 2006