Seven Secrets
by Dawn Vogel

The first secret is

I suggested your name

for the mission to Mars,

knowing you would take it.

Pain level: nothing.

 

The second secret is

when you said

you were going to Mars

I still pretended to be sad.

Pain level: tear ducts aching to produce tears.

 

The third secret is

you weren't the only one I picked,

and all shared a unique similarity.

Pain level: how many times a broken heart?

(How many were in your crew?)

 

The fourth secret is

I spent time reconfiguring the cryopods

(for efficiency—and maybe a bit more

uncomfortable closeness than strictly necessary).

Pain level: none for me, all for you.

 

The fifth secret is

the other tiny faults

(in the interest of cost-savings)

strewn about the ship.

Pain level: flinching from every ignored fault.

 

The sixth secret is

I waited on the platform, out of sight,

to see, at long last, the launch,

followed by the inevitable explosion.

Pain level: a cramping leg thanks to my vantage.

 

And the seventh secret

is knowing that

you never knew

why your mission failed.

Pain level: excruciating.