opportunity

my battery is low &
it is getting dark

who did the mars rover imagine
in his last moments crossing 

the scabbed ground? the god 
of war lived round & copper 

beneath him. we should pray 
him into heaven like we do

each year for my aunt joan.
15 years ago when he first landed

she was still alive & dyed
her hair the same color as his rocks.

his sphere-attic world
laughing under his feet, she held

the counter to make her way
through the kitchen. i see

myself at 15 walking mars:
a girl in a purple halter dress 

& blue hair, perched
on a precipice looking over 

the relics of a martian sea. 
she draws starfish in the pie-crust

ground before the darkness 
encroaches on all sides. taste

of dying sits in the back of her throat
like chewing aluminum foil.

what angels does she meet?
what other gods did our mars rover know?

building shrines in his machinery,
a solitary worship, his altar of red giants, 

each a candle lit by the bold &
stubborn death of a star. he sings

to himself like i do, like 
my aunt joan did, even as she was dying,

her voice leaving her body
as a ribbon into the ceiling fan,

even farther above the rover hummed.
did he pretend that he had parents?

a normal life? high school years?
a first love far far below?

the 15 year old me up there buckles
& falls like the trunk of a tree.

my aunt took years. her gaze always
drifting farther & farther above our

heads as she forgot us more each day.
did she know the rover somehow?

did they talk? did she tell them
her life stories as they left her.

i know he listened, kept those stories, 
repeated the details to himself for comfort:

a green wave on the jersey beach, 
two white shell-shaped clip-on earrings.

the rover's eyes go dark slowly, 
the thinning of throat, he hears 

the transmission commanders as they call
for him, all his fathers, 

hears Billie Holiday singing 
"I'll be seeing you

In all the old familiar places,"
thinks of everyone else who 

died too young & says to himself 
"what good company i am in."