Waving at a Stranger from a Long Distance Makes them Not a Stranger

Waving at a Stranger from a Long Distance Makes

them Not a Stranger

Daniel Gleason

It’s been so long since last I lay
on my back on the grass at night—

the early dew wicking into my shirt,
the stars and lightning bugs colliding above—

it’s been so long, that I didn’t expect
to see so many white satellites

sliding across the black dome.
So many it’s not a big deal,

like I might not even bother
pointing them out to you,

if you were lying here beside me.
I start to wonder if I’m seeing people,

not just orbiting machines, and maybe that one
there is the International Space Station

zipping across at 17,500 miles per hour.
If I’m willing to keep on lying here

while it makes its next terrestrial lap,
I can prop up on my side, one hand holding my head,

and with the other I can wave to someone
in the night sky who might be waving back.

---

Daniel Gleason
Professor & Poet

Daniel lives in Dayton, Tennessee, where he teaches literature, composition, and creative writing at Bryan College. He earned a Ph.D. at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, and his poems have appeared in Rattle, South Carolina Review, The Cresset, The Windhover, Rock and Sling, and elsewhere.

Photography by Nate Rayfield