sent on a mission to mars and afraid of heights
would I conquer my fear if not the Martians
mending my parachute year to year
having barely mastered sewing on buttons
of a silver, a milky hue like light streaming through
whatever place I was dreaming in at the time.
I practiced gliding in my room in my bright shoes
while reading the news and counting down the days.
but no one was buying it.
who am I to sell moonlight in a jar
red rocks from a distant star
but keep in mind
others went out to the gold mines on a whim
and found nothing then
but empty pockets nights of no diamond sleeping.
I hope to write no resume someday
to live on a planet where this is not required
to define why I should be paid by the hour
when I have Mystery, the moon at my window
for free and all the pearl glorias
singing inside me.
mary angela douglas 28 july 2019
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