[Postcard 2: You ever see the sunset from Outer Space? I have.]
She threw herself a funeral —
“Like Tom Sawyer only better!”
Lily wreaths, roses on our wrists, unseemly boutonnières.
Amazing Grace, How Can I Keep from Singing, The Blue Green Hills of Earth
Her voice soared above us like a mothership.
I did not cry.
My eyes were dry.
— C.S.E. Cooney, from poem Postcards From Mars
- I Waited And Worked To Win Myself LeisureI waited and worked To win myself leisure, Till loneliness irked And I turned to raw pleasure. — — Louis Untermeyer from poem Koheleth
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