Sarah Henry is retired from a major American newspaper. She lives in a small Pennsylvania town without distractions. Sarah prefers readable poetry that wasn’t written by Martians.
Asteroid
It’s a small world
like an asteroid.
One crosses Paris
in a single day
or grows bored with
the coast of Hawaii.
My niece sends love
from the tundra.
I pass my ex
and blink like a signal.
An asteroid sails through
space until it wobbles.
They catch a thief
running off on film.
It’s a small world
and they’re all watching.
They’re all watching
but I am innocent.
I sit at a desk
on my asteroid.
I open my journal
and grab a pen.
It’s a small world.
I travel on paper.