---

Terrestrial

by Eric Nelson

---

When God wouldn't talk, I turned
to UFOs, hovering in the airwaves
those days of Cuban missiles
and stockpiles of canned goods.
One greater being was as good
as another, any shape the sky held--
ladder or halo, saucer or cigar--
miracle enough in my temporary world
of transfers and states of alert.
In the library of the Air War
College where my father studied
for a year, I prowled the stacks
for the Blue Books I'd heard
confirmed sightings and contacts.
I never found them; I found lies--
tricked-up frisbees, weather balloons,
and rows of decades-old issues of Life
bound in books the size of clay tablets.
I sat on the floor and stared
at the gray images--famous people
I'd never heard of; piles of dead,
naked bodies; men in baggy suits
and hats that hid their eyes;
rubble that had been a city;
women with iron hair and dresses
like uniforms; skeletons
of buildings; soldiers pushing
a flag up; a sailor kissing a nurse.
I lost time as the years
that led from them to me
passed through my hands
and into my skin like dust.
A tingling started in my legs
and rose through my body.
I stood up, dizzy, surrounded
by the pictures spread out
like an aerial view of the world.
I stood still, waiting
for the spinning to stop.

---

......................



All contents copyright © 1996, The Blue Moon Review, All Rights Reserved.