La Primavera

I’ve seen the world end
more times than
I can count

as I sit here watching
the dripping sun melt
into the bay 

I wonder what might
be said of us
many millennia hence 

& millennia upon millennia
upon millennia upon
millennia when the sun

engulfs the earth in
a wave of fire &
after when every

drop of starlight dries
not with a bang but

what I wonder 
will be left of us
our art our science
our lies & loves
our humanity 

somewhere drifting
through space on
a golden record
a newborn baby crying
into the emptiness 
of light

I saw this article about the potential construction of new missile silos in the desert west of China, and I was alarmed at how casually I initially reacted: I have grown up in a world where the threat of nuclear wars, terrorist attacks, and climate change has somehow become normalized. What’s one more step towards that crumbling cliff? 

But, for whatever reason, I pictured in my mind the Voyager spacecraft with its instruments and antennae flying off in interplanetary space, bearing its precious Golden Record; we, who once stood in the plains of Africa and gazed in soaring wonder at the stars, recorded a testimony to our humanity that will, most likely, outlast us. I couldn’t help feel a kind of light reveling in that thought.

Image Credit: NASA