From the Depths of Enceladus

Suddenly age has been blasted from sad

to the ninth ring of Saturn. How many

astronomical units from childhood is that?

Yesterday, prose became an inscrutable poem

beneath miles of critical ice. Today rings

hope's ultimate bell. Enough is enough:

despite infarctions, acceptance at the speed 

of light has brought me back to Jersey City:

I'm on my last stent. The door opens wide.

First published in POEM, Number 124, November 2020

Interpretation

As a child, I was fascinated by the solar system. Percival Lowell's theory, with which I was familiar, asserted that striations on the Martian surface, as seen through a telescope, were canals maintained by an advanced civilization. This theory, as I knew even then, had been disproven many decades before I was born. In the 1950s, the belief that life in the solar system other than on Earth was virtually untenable; planets and moons that revolved around the Sun, other than Earth, were widely believed to be either too hot, or, mostly, too cold to support "life as we know it." Today, we're not so sure; primitive forms of life might well exist in our planetary neighborhood. Water, for instance, the solvent of life, is abundant. One of the principal candidates for extraterrestrial life is Enceladus, a small moon of Saturn. Under ten miles of solid ice, there is a liquid ocean, larger than any on Earth. It is thought that life in that ocean, especially around thermal vents, is a real possibility. Geysers from the moon's depths which plume into space compose the ninth ring of Saturn; they contain organic compounds, which is an indication, but not proof, that oceanic life exists. We will find out (relatively) soon. What an amazing time we live in!

An astronomical unit (line 3) is the distance from our sun to Earth, approximately 93 million miles or eight light-minutes. Saturn is about 80 light-minutes from Earth, or ten astronomical units. 

The protagonist of the poem is old and beset with health problems. The protagonist, tired of living a superficial life, is on the cusp of a major transformation; it is 'now or never.' 

I would like to make clear at this point that the use of the first person in my poems does not necessarily refer to the author. I am decidedly not a confessional poet. There are elements, however, that apply to me: I am old, and I was born in Jersey City, NJ. Other aspects are fictive: for instance, I've never had a heart attack or had a stent placed in a coronary artery, nor in any way do I hear 'hope's ultimate bell,' etc.

The metaphorical 'door' of the last line is always open for all of us; it is our choice--at least we can approach it-- whether we walk through and step into a world of genuine relationship with all and with the all. The poem is, therefore, as much about you as it is about me.