Moonshot
—July 20, 1969
I watched from the bedroom
with my high school boyfriend
as Neil and Buzz planted the flag—
staticky fizz from the Zenith, rabbit
ears cocked. Bill was working
hard that summer to become his father,
a kind enough man, the kind
I thought I might marry. I spent
the virginity I’d been tossing out
in small coins, wild thing
you make my heart sing on repeat,
play it loud. The local radio
station ran a contest to predict
when the mercury would first hit
a hundred. It never did. Some
say the moon landing was staged.
Those of us who watched hung
tight. How majestic we looked
from this new perspective.
Karen Hildebrand’s full length collection is Crossing Pleasure Avenue from Indolent Books. Recent essays, poems, and reviews have appeared in Grist, Hanging Loose, LEON, Lily Poetry Review, LitStack, Maintenant, Mom Egg Review, New Ohio Review, Rust+Moth, Scoundrel Time, SWWIM, Swannanoa Review, and Westchester Review. She is an editor with Painted Bride Quarterly, and a dance critic, with reviews published by The Brooklyn Rail and Fjord Review. She lives in Clinton Hill. https://karenhildebrandpoet.com/