Mars

August 27, 2003

U went to the roof looking for Mars last night. I wondered if its distant glow would be strong enough to force its way through the gauzy haze. I craned my neck and twirled, scanning the night sky, until I finally found it hanging, low and fuzzy like an ember. How could I be standing as close as I'll ever be to that glimmering world, yet still be over 31 million miles away? How could all that history and mythology dangle from such a small and delicate shimmer?

I stood there staring until thoughts of infinity and insignificance seeped through the cracks of my skull and made me disappear. By the time I came back to earth, I found myself driving in my Jeep, driving to a little park at the edge of the East River. I sat on a rock and listened to the water. Watched cars soar across the Williamsburg Bridge. Heard whispers of couples as they cuddled on benches. My phone burned green as I typed out lonely text messages and tossed them into the ether like crumbs for the gulls, until the battery died and the screen went black. The handset was still warm as I folded it up and put it in my pocket. I lifted my gaze to the skyline. Buildings speckled with lights, traffic buzzing along FDR Drive, and helicopters and airplanes flickering through the grayness. I looked over my left shoulder, where Mars persisted in silence. It watched over me sadly, remembering the time when all the drama of the night belonged to the stars and the moon and the planets. Before man had littered the earth with so much imitation.