in the top flat
Wind lives, waiting.
I hear him moving, his stride
like ice, or, more appropriately, like
light in water. You have seen it,
splintered into fractals
in veins reaching down,
shimmering against the pressure
of so much water.
That is what I think of when I hear
Wind at home,
because his footsteps are impossible
in the way that water is impossible.
I remember when I learned there is no
water on Mars. It made sense.
No red planet could be wet with life.
Red planet, dead planet.
But one day I heard,
“What about ice?”
I remembered then that our scientists, our leaders —
we are all just children
hoping to catch a glimpse of god outside.
Is he there in the water?
Does he live in the flat above, an immigrant
Martian, rustling elemental,
a dipthong in motion, a harried and immutable Wind?
Ah, but — what about ice?
©K Paige Medina, 9 October 2018