Low Earth Orbit

Jan 8 2013

Low earth orbit

is the closest we get

to space;

400 miles,

a good day’s drive

on the Interstate,

with a leisurely break

for lunch.

Enough

to see the earth

borderless.

See storms, from above

like a high-def weather map.

But far enough to miss

the freshening breeze

the quench of rain, as it streams

down an up-turned face.

See the sun

rise over and over each day,

break the rim of the earth

and burst

into dazzling light.

Then wheel away,

deep space, plunging into darkness

which unimagined stars, laser-sharp

will fill.

So close, the planet looms large,

blue and green

and fantastic.

And seems so horribly small

against the cosmic vastness;

an insignificant planet

around an average star.

And a tiny satellite

coasting just outside

the atmosphere,

circling mother earth.

What a conceit,

that we have been to space, the outer reaches,

our brave explorers

who ride rockets, and risk.

When we’ve never really left,

this home

that’s all there is.

I read with amusement about astronauts “going into space”:  hardly! What hubris; what an absurd conceit to call low earth orbit “space”.

I read this poem as a plea for stewardship and environmental responsibility. Because there is no escape into space from our profligacy and venality:  this precious planet is all there is. The key words are “home” and “mother earth”.

The poem telescopes the reader in and out, shifting perspective:  from this immense planet looming out the space station window, to a tiny speck against the infinity of stars. Which is really not the duality it seems:  because both perspectives inspire awe; and both are sobering demonstrations of our insignificance.