A capsule of lighted hope lay in the deep black depths,
seven Russian submariners trapped on the Pacific floor.
Although “satisfactory” in their red striped white sub,
freeze as only hours of oxygen remain. Kursk memories
flood Moscow, but she pleads straight away for US
and UK Super Scorpios who help raise the vessel to rescue
depth – averting another disaster. But no one can help
the Discovery’s seven in their cocoon of light circling
our world in un-ending space. They wait in zero gravity,
remove foam chips, listen to Beatles and pray. The world held
a collective breath before touchdown as NASA remembered
the awesome, fiery power of Columbia’s broken tile.
NOTE: This poem was were published in the Poets Union Anthology 2007.
