PTSD, but with Aliens

Born in a cave
on the cusp of the Great Depression
in the Hungry Moon

the youngest son
of a medicine woman
a woman who stands

between the solidly material world
and the worlds with less mass
and the worlds with more

achieves modest academic achievement
in spite of his many gifts
8th grade, he managed

just that

and yet,
his work with vibrational awareness
made the Mercury series

happen

he was always happiest
working with the plant folk,
the many-footeds (compared to him)

'There's nothing better than being a dirt farmer, babe,'
he'd say in English, but staring upward at the
distant Dipper, he'd sigh

and sing in words that have no earthly match
songs of love and longing
homesickness

resonating with the distant seasons
on planets long gone,
erased by the Orion's vicious wars

'So why'd you work for NASA, Pa?'
'So you could go home someday, Little Frog.
Nothing is more important than getting you back home.'

I've looked,
there is no planet there,
that NASA knows.

There is a field of asteroids.
From the stories of my childhood,
I know those aren't asteroids.

They are the remains
of a beautiful world,
with seasons

and cultures
and peoples and joys
and sorrows.

And suddenly,
the Memory from long ago
packing a ship with refugees

and running from the explosion

and with the memory
i feel sick
like it's happening now

again.