by Cammy Thomas
Orbiting above the earth, spinning
in solitude and fear, watching
earth loop by in its interstellar
loneliness, caught in my spacesuit,
air running out, can’t stop the wobble—
I wake in my spaceship, under layers
of quilts. Still dark outside,
and in this cocoon waiting, thin air
full of doubt, I turn and see
out the porthole of my eye
a form like a far-off mountain range
moving slightly, rising and falling,
and I shift toward it until my ship
docks gently against my husband’s body.
Cammy Thomas has published two collections of poems with Four Way Books: Inscriptions (2014), and Cathedral of Wish (2006). Her newest collection, Tremors, is forthcoming in 2021. Her poems have recently appeared in Image Journal, Tampa Review, The Missouri Review, and Salamander, and in the anthology, Poems in the Aftermath (Indolent Books). She lives in Lexington, Massachusetts.
Hawaii Pacific Review 