Cameron Morse

Theo suited up in blue

padded winter coat, zipped

and hooded, Velcroed footstep

 

light up space boots from Target

in the dark garage. I push

the button and the monstrous

 

segmented insect wing

of the door breaks suction

with the step in which it rests

 

and rolls its creaking panels

onto the tracks above us. Daylight

replaces the close-knit gloom

 

of us with the light of our breathing

bodies. An alien planet presents

itself in the square portal

 

of our shuttlecraft. It’s so cold

the boy has to be taken

by the hand and led into the aching

 

brightness of snow, some new

world caked and encrusted, this a funnel

of flesh-eating wind.