Everyone’s Gone to the Moon

astronaut on moon

Fifty years ago today , human beings landed on the moon.

I wrote a poem about it, sort of,  but many years later:



Everyone’s Gone to the Moon


Rousseau painted the gypsy sleeping under the full moon

in dazzling deep cobalt sky ,

dreaming face like a totem serene

in a dream of lute music.

Pipe song,

grazing wildeyed lion

huge behind him

standing guard over his dreams

bedhead mane stiff with moonlight

eyes wild white balls and staring corneas

tail at the alert


1969 and I’m serving drinks

at the Kennett Square Country Club,

so glad to be 21 and able to serve drinks.

The golfers at the bar stare with wild white eyeballs

at the tiny moonman in his white spacesuit

moving jerkily on the cratered surface

faceless, the glass in his helmet shining back

the distant earth

and I notice it without much excitement,

immersed as I am in being 21 years old,

thinking this will happen a lot

from now on.

In my dreams.


rousseau the sleeping gypsy






Published by ahiggins2013

poet, birder, senior citizen, cancer survivor, Catholic sister. Eight books of poetry published: At the Year’s Elbow, Mellen Poetry Press 2000; Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky, Plain View Press 2007; chapbooks: Pick It Up and Read, Finishing Line Press 2008, How the Hand Behaves, Finishing Line Press 2009, Digging for God, Wipf and Stock 2010, Vexed Questions, Aldrich Press 2013, Reconnaissance, Texture Press 2014, and Life List, Finishing Line Press, 2015.

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