THE FOREIGNER
a satellite set adrift, looking for a place to
Land
finding one,
kissing the dirt, then
crushed
by the impact of ground on scraps
of braided aluminum foil
sun shields break off in the wind;
the robotic arm, the energy panels are snatched away too
and only the shell of the metal body remains,
foreign,
Untouched, somehow by the elements.
the paint is new, the nails unrusted and lonely.
Old Home is still there, but fading-- the Sun
is between us, and we haven’t heard from them in awhile
waves of communication attempted swallowed by the damn fiery mess
and then they are not
and the waves reach Old Home
only to settle in the dust, the other end of the radio
destroyed centuries ago,
minutes after we were sent away
a satellite set adrift, looking for a place to
Land
finding one,
kissing the dirt, its
metal feet settling softly
onto the ground. light reflects off scraps
of braided aluminum foil
into the villagers’ houses;
the mechanic ventures over curiously, the painter brings a tarp
and though the shell of the metal body remains
foreign,
Untouched, somehow by the elements,
the people lend us paint and nails.
Old Home is still there, but fading-- the Sun
is between us, and they haven’t heard from us in awhile
waves of communication attempted swallowed by the damn fiery mess
and then they are not
and the waves reach New Home
only to settle in the dust, our end of the radio
stashed forgotten in the cupboard centuries ago,
minutes after we left
A Short Bio:
Anthos (he/him) has been writing short stories ever since he could read. He discovered poetry thanks to his freshman English teacher. Much of Anthos's writing focuses on joy, belonging, mental illness, and his experiences as a queer person and Third Culture Kid (TCK). Anthos started off writing for myself, but now his hope is that his writing is able to help others.
ANTHOS