We walk on water-swelled soil
studded with earthstars, skins
pierced by rain, spores already erupted,
and I tell my mother
Now is the closest Mars will be until 2035
and she says
This Halloween moon’s a blue one.
The sky’s been deleted
by the sun, so when dark comes
I try to remember to look
for Mars’ orange seed briefly fruited
into a tangerine, clinging close
to a mistletoe ball of a moon
and I try, and fail to remember
the feel of my mother’s
small bent body in my arms.
Fiona Cartwright (Twitter @sciencegirl73) is a poet and conservation scientist. Her poems have appeared in various magazines, including Magma, Mslexia, Under the Radar, Interpreter’s House and Atrium. Her debut pamphlet, Whalelight, was published by Dempsey and Windle in 2019 (Fiona Cartwright).
3 thoughts on “Mars – Fiona Cartwright”
Wonderful — made me cry. Thanks!
Beautiful images and very moving. I love this poem
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