Voyager [poem] by Shirley J. Brewer

I buy a jewel-green time machine
at a garage sale, climb aboard,
push a button marked Beyond. That thing
takes off, whirs and sputters
like a lawn mower chorus.

My capsule travels toward a new dimension,
offers an escape from loss,
and from the burden of reflection. I’ve been
cruising in this timeless zone—cozy,
well-fed—I found some Mars bars on the floor.

In a star’s life cycle, middle-age
is a billion-year bore. I want glitter,
pizzazz in my middle phase, and beyond—
more light, more time to explore.

Through a window in my time contraption,
I gaze at the galaxy’s gems up close.
What matters to me dazzles; what dazzles,
matters. Words unravel, stars talk:

Be the one heavenly body you adore.


Image of 1930s Switchboard Operator

[Refer: This poem put the editors in mind of Dustin Beale Smith’s essay “Grace.”]

Image by dennis crowley

Shirley J. Brewer (Baltimore, MD) is a poet, educator and workshop facilitator. She serves as poet-in-residence at Carver Center for the Arts & Technology in Baltimore. Her poems appear in SpillwayPassager, Gargoyle, Little Patuxent Review, The Comstock Review, Naugatuck River Review, and other journals. Shirley’s poetry chapbooks include A Little Breast Music, 2008, Passager Books, and After Words, 2013, Apprentice House/Loyola University.