Marcy Rode a Meteor
by Samantha Henderson




Marcy found a meteor

fist-sized and heavy,

dull-skinned and golden,

wound about with wires.


Surprising, thought the last survivor

When he tried to download his memories

Into Recovery Craft (1)

Only one remained: he thought

He could pour out his life like a pitcher of water

Into an earthen bowl, but no

A summer memory

A backyard memory


Marcy found a meteor

oblong as her heart,

humming in her palm,

telling itself stories.


The green beetles sucking,

sucking at the overripe figs,

the fermented juices,

the milky sap,

the hollow trunk where a possum once lived

and the green beetles, shiny in their metallic coats,

sucking 'til they were drunk,

falling on the grass, their sticky

prickly legs churning

lazy, the hazy air.


Marcy made a meteor

dull-skinned and golden,

crafted like a beetle,

wound about with wires.


Surprising, thought RC(1),

That all he could give her

Was a handful of beetles.

Was she to spill them in the red dust

of an alien backyard

an alien summer

prickly legs churning

the hazy air?


Marcy rode a meteor

through the Martian atmosphere

sheltered under mica wings,

skimming the heliopause,

searching for a people: 


dull-skinned and golden

wound about with wires.




About the Author:

Samantha Henderson lives in Southern California with her family. Her fiction has been published in Realms of Fantasy, Strange Horizons, Chizine, Lone Star Stories and Helix.  Her first novel, Heaven’s Bones, was released in September of 2008.




Poem © 2009 Samantha Henderson.