Dedicated to all the people with Cindy.

“We were still thousands of miles away, but close enough so that the moon almost filled our circular window. . . . The corona of the sun was visible around the limb of the moon. . . . There was no part of it illuminated by the sun. It was illuminated by the earth, by earthshine.” ~~ Neil Armstrong

At Walter Reed

“You’re the only one can fix it”: film projector
In the janitor’s back closet, crammed with
Ancient science films the teachers showed
Over and over, tired of us rough-housing,
Cursing, starting fights. I should have studied
Harder: I was young. Still, they called me
The Projector, and I sat apart in darkness
Like a king, tinkering with that clattering
Machine, dust motes spinning in its
Beam as reels wound down. I said I’d
Be a pilot, so I had a girl. My favorite
Cartoon showed a smiling little man
Launched deep in space. Voice
Warned: “So far away, we fear
He may lose all desire to come back home.”

I fix—I fixed—trucks. Stationed
In that desert. Air Force. Not
A pilot, like they’d said: called
Growing up. The guys stuck
With the rattling Humvee, they said,
Come on, you’re the only one can
Fix it, old jalopy—just a milk run
To Fallujah, say you’ll go. So I said
Yes. White sun: that’s the last thing
I remember. “Trap!”, curse,
Dark. In war, things
Happen.

We get the best of care—oh, I’m
Cut off next month, some paperwork
Snafu—but PT, Physical Therapy, and
Surgery, the best. My mom, she lost
Her job to be with me. But every time I
Wheel out of the room, she looks up
Waiting, like there’s something
I should say. Hey Mom,
Relax! I’ll be back
Soon, and explain
Nothing.

Once she drove three days to see
The Wall. See my dad’s name. I hated
Grownups crying, so I ducked my head
And looked instead at all the funny stuff
Folks left—a cartoon lighter. One black
Boot. A silver ring. A letter: this guy
Writes that he can’t take his sons out
Fishing. Since he’s back, he always
Sees the deck flood
Red. “The fish don’t
Bite now, like with
Someone else’s father.”

My leg ends in a curve. And then
A space that still can trick me
When I wake. Turns out
To live, you must know
Nothing: walk
On air. Stand on no
Ground. What’s left:
My mom, my dad,
The PT girl who’s
Knocking at my door—
It’s time—and a silver
Limb that some tech shined.

~~ Shelley
(from the BFA blog, with her permission)