Footprints - Oct 30 2023

 

Footprints

Oct 30 2023

As I remember it

the moon was full

when the first man set foot.

When we saw him descend

that flimsy looking ladder

rung by careful rung,

and then, with an awkward little hop

touch down,

kibitzing for the camera

and planting the flag.

I could look this up,

but does accuracy really matter

in memories like this?

We watched in a stuffy room

on a small screen

in blurry black and white

through a scrim of grainy static,

Would wonders never cease;

live TV

direct from the moon!

So stepping outside

into cool crisp air

and a restful silence

where time seemed to stop,

I looked up at the clear night sky

and felt awe, and wonder

a sense of possibility;

the beginning of something,

even if I knew not what.

And now, as I write this

it's been over 50 years

since we returned.

The moon is once again full.

The flag still flies,

looking as windblown

as it always has.

And the footprints

are just as they were left,

untouched

if no further ahead.

As in all things, it seems;

early on, the high point,

then a long slow descent

and disappointment.

So while the moon, like clockwork

cycles through its phases,

life on earth

has betrayed its promise.

And my own life

   —  over 50 years on, as I write this,

and closer to the end

than seems possible  —

has been inconsequentially small.

No moon landing

or triumphant return.

No stars and stripes

saluting brightly.

No footprints left behind.

Nothing to testify

I was ever even here.

I found myself writing another ho-hum poem about the full moon, and only allowed myself to continue on the condition that I do something original. It took an interesting turn. Perhaps a reflection of some subconscious (or not so “sub”?) discontent?