Apollo 11

A rocket fired and a
breath taken, in unison.
Two pointed gazes tilted
up towards the night.

The stickiness of the
atmosphere traps in
all the words I never
wrote down, and the poet
in me flinches as I soar
into outer space.

Above, the moon watches with
a calm serenity the oceans
would deny and the stars
scatter out of the ship’s way,
eager to avoid a collision.

The poet starts counting
her breaths with her heartbeats,
one timer in each hand as she
writes with the ink
on her tongue across the
surface of the rock.

With no gravity to weigh
them down her words float
into the sky, splaying across
the black like constellations
and interfering with the
satellites, till they transmit
only poetry

By A. Davida Jane

Biography:

A. Davida Jane is a writer and student from Wellington, New Zealand who studies English Literature and Classics. She spends most of her time around words, from poetry, novels and essays to working in a bookstore, and can’t imagine ever not writing. Find more of her writing at wefragilehumans.tumblr.com