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.
