Nels Hanson’s most recent poem to appear here was “Sunday Inventory” (October 2017)

Medic!
By Nels Hanson

Our base lay well hidden
down a crater, underground
on the moon’s dark side,

a secret concealed secret
undetected by circling men
or satellites. What happened

next I don’t need to tell you
except to say your wildest
fears were true although of

course the story has a happy
ending. Our star and world
were far by your perception,

the quick glide past planets
and suns. A month like years
we watched you, did no harm,

helped when possible. Wars,
race, hunger, waning animals,
rich, poor, declining weather

wouldn’t change. We vowed
to retreat in seclusion, analyze
your history as chronic patient,

shadow the trauma cast, not Eve
or Adam, Job, Zeus or Oedipus—
instead a simple case of optics.

Armed telescope ready at hand
it was 2035 if you recall your
books at school we shot a ray

past Jupiter, back to Earth, two
seconds. The transparent silver
rain fell silently, cleansing eyes

meant for mirrors with window
open to a single changing face.
Sight repaired, prognosis good,

recovery after uncertain week,
at new alarm we left hurriedly
your sector of the Milky Way.