In a thousand thousand years,
when the sun has licked
Mercury to a Hershey’s kiss,
and Venus blinks
oblivion, you’ll still be
married to someone else.
When Earth’s oceans boil off,
and what’s left of us
flees in starships,
sailing on solar winds
to Jupiter’s moons—
she’ll cling to you through
the asteroid belt, that
sandpit of broken glass.
Even when we land,
foreign on a frozen ocean,
begin again, and
maybe humanity can
survive a few more chapters,
even then, I’m thinking:
this at last will make him love me.
—for David Bowie
Privacy is clearly a priority
for you, having for over a century
evaded our prying telescopes
—a trans-Neptunian snow-globe
ten times the size of the Earth!
It’s true, we’ve yet to see you,
but we’ve seen what you can do,
perturbing your neighbours
in the wake of your indifference.
You are the largest solid object
in the solar system and probably
the largest repository of water.
Like a long-distance trucker,
your route keeps you far from home;
you drive all night through the cold.
No one knows your handle,
but everyone wants ahold of you.
Are you at last the long-lost island
of Atlantis? The cave of Calypso—
nymph(o) who makes slaves of men,
whose name is Greek for hidden?
If we could crack you open,
would we still smell the ocean?
Sugar le Fae (aka Zach Matteson) is a prize-winning poet, translator, teacher, photographer, songwriter, and Radical Faerie. His poems, essays, and interviews have appeared in numerous literary journals in Canada and the U.S., including Plenitude, Lemon Hound, and Eleven Eleven. Sugar has an MFA in Creative Writing from UBC.