38.1380 N, 92.8104 W
Sailing ahead, salt mists our sun kissed bodies as we rest on the bow of the boat
Counting and observing the worlds above us, though the view is altered
1, 20, infinite speckles of dust that take 8.3 minutes to reach us
What is lost in between?
Our ancestors teach us our history in just one patch of sky
What more can we learn from the rest?
We bicker about which is the big dipper, which is Orion’s belt but
Who determined which was which?
How did they align this way tonight?
The endless possibilities lead to so many questions, but which questions are the ones that
matter?
Who should we question?
I felt overwhelmed as I lay there, a feeling not quite anxiety
But more suffocating, more incapacitating
Like something buzzing and seething through the cracks of my existence.
It froths and shakes and swells until I can’t breathe
but still, I get the most air I’ve had in years.
Has anyone else had this thought?
That we could be the only ones here,
Or that possibly I’ve caught someone’s eye on a boat thousands of light years away?
And how big is a light year in regards to the entire universe?
How many universes are there?
I spin and spin and spin until everything is vibrating and we’re coasting and suddenly
Nothing matters anymore.
The salt continues to mist our bodies and we continue to sail.
Adrianna Salkin is a poet whose work primarily focuses on love through a young persons eyes. She spent many years writing an anthology of poems that explore her teenage through young adult years as she interacts with people and the world around her. It represents her struggle to discover who she is and what she wants. Adrianna currently studies English at Towson University and intends on continuing to get her PhD in writing and literature. Previous publication can be found in ‘Winter’, an anthology of poems published by Poets Choice.