A Romantic’s Take on July 20, 1969

A girl in a cotton dress and cat eye glasses

sits cross legged on the floor,

a copy of Jane Eyre clutched across her chest. 

She’s staring at the moon

Through her grainy, rabbit eared television

and thinking of the trope in stories of lovers

torn apart from each other by fate

who look at the moon and find solace

knowing wherever their beloved is, 

they have the same moon to look up to.

She wonders if the families of the men 

On her screen have that same solace now.

Knowing that if they look up to the moon, 

Not only will they know their loved ones 

Will be looking at it too (between their feet),

The families will be gazing right at them, 

though their distance makes the men

smaller than specks of dust.

Her parents start when her book

Thumps on the floor, Her hands 

outstretched on the carpet behind her.

They ask if she’s ok, but she only nods,

Too embarrassed to say she suddenly felt

Like she had peering into the

Grand Canyon last summer,

As tiny and insignificant as a grain of sand

Next to the expanse of the ocean.

She lays in bed that night,

With moonlight casting shadows 

across her quilt and decides

That love stories would be much more tragic

If they took place among the stars.