Ensign
A Fanpoem
My parents will get the message on two o' clock on a Saturday.
Somebody flung a funeral song into space
And it will soar and hit them like a meteorite
Crashing them inwards and buckling their knees in grief.
They will cover all the mirrors in their house
And sit shiva and sing for all explorer sons and daughters.
They will cry over my full name.
I tell you this not to earn your pity,
Just as a reminder that I was once alive.
I wore the red uniform with proud shoulders high
And died seeing everything new and brilliant.
It is the greatest glory to die touching the stars.
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Star Trek is copyright Gene Roddenberry, Paramount, et. al., none of which are me.