Member Poem

 
 
as she’d learned (albeit recently) falling is one of two fears babies are born with,
and it wasn’t that she didn’t trust the captain (or engineering), but someone was always yelling (and loud noises was baby fear number two). So when it was time to step inside the airlock,
the suit heavy on her frame, that she longed for gravity to whisper its secret meaning in her ears.
 
Tugging the tether, she wished she could wind it round and round her wrists, binding her to starslip, to artificial gravity, to one last day if not on earth, at least on board. It felt strong enough to reel her in if need be, or would they leave her dangling off the starboard bow?
 
The airlock door slid open and she unclenched her eyes, reached for, grabbed the doorjamb as the silent stare of space sent adrenalin coursing through her brain. She wouldn’t look down, wouldn’t look down, couldn’t look down, but at least the life-support systems were pulsing green.
 
She clenched her eyes, leaned forward (they said not to leap or dive as she would catapult herself too far), and expected to feel wind whipping her hair but the helmet prevented that (besides, they laughed at her, said, there’s no wind in space). Why did I ever sign up for this? she sighed, testing com systems, emergency back-ups, leaving the airlock behind.
 
At first, such silence, such blessed silence, the irony not lost on her. Then the captain’s chatter guiding her toward the grips, the escape pod just ahead. A few more feet, a few more feet and now safe inside, her journey to Io almost real.
 
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the university conference board or her advisor, as she’d learned right before leaving the grant funds she’d been awarded went to her department. Not to her. She thought this odd, senses reeling, as she barreled toward the icy moon below. Whoever thought a manned mission would have a poet on board?
 
The End