by Christopher Jug George
In the future she wears a spacesuit and jetpack, she soars toward the moon, her visor reflects my hazel eyes. A tinge of sadness mixes with a larger dose of wonder about times her father may have been lost in life when she was young and did not know.
I think about my father in the early 1980s, wearing Levi’s and jogging shoes. The collar of a plaid shirt above a navy v-neck sweater, his glasses fogging up while driving away from the city, alone in our spaceship silver Chevy Impala.