Mars Will Not Be Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

[to Ray Bradbury]

Mars will not be
the planet that you reach from
the inside, as if you had the key.

it will whirl off, into an Infinite sea,

scattering into little rubies;
a scatter pin on the field of the nights
you will rest,

but not quite, with one window cracked;
the antique mirrors
seized with a longing to look back on

a single footprint in the red dust;
a child's hand imprinted on clay
retrieved from old disasters.

or the Last Day.

Mars will not be a bent word straightened
between one party and another;
a radical cure for those who stutter;

an Ark impelled forward
past all we can't endure on earth;

nor the signet nor the crown of Space, rebirths,
though you will race to it with both hands open
as if it had a Heart

intending to intending to...
what you can never start;
though others coming after

like a carmine afterthought,
may, half dazzled stop- and marvel:
who was here, is this the spot...

then gather up carelessly,
the nets you dropped.

mary angela douglas 14 january 2016