LETTERS TO EARTH: DISCOVERY
I woke, as I tend to, with stars
crumbing my eyes. There was dark.
Nights took longer to observe.
I roved the house in search of you
and found water, instead. Some few signs of life:
a displaced coffee pot, a voice I mistook for yours
wraithing the radio.
It could have been me
who displaced, who repeated
albedo, albedo until the lights dimmed.
Discovery: a year depends upon your orbit.
Small impacts are never small – will ripple
even the stillest surface.
Dana Koster was a Wallace Stegner Fellow at Stanford University and a 2012 recipient of the Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Prize. Her poems have appeared in Indiana Review, Southern Humanities Review, The Cincinnati Review, Muzzle Magazine and THRUSH Poetry Journal, among others. She lives in California’s Central Valley with her husband and young son.