Deep Space

She wears her space suit to bed.

Her pearl-handled ray gun at her side.

The stars

shoot at night.

Sixty moons

like fish in a barrel.

She dreams

she’s a child again.

Her uncle

taught her everything she knows about space.

The sidewalks

were made of oxygen.

Her first tricycle

was really three.

Her mother

was made entirely of alien skin.

She ran away from home

when she was seven.

She’s lived in outer space since then.

She wishes she was ten.

The rocket ship is warming up

next to the fireplace.

She smiles in her sleep

and becomes weightless.

Her electrons don’t know who they are.

Neither wave nor particle.

A black hole runs down her mother's leg
her father said.

When she wakes up

her space suit is all sweaty.