For Isaac
by Daniel C. Smith

 

I never met the man,
but not a day passes
that his words do not
touch my soul.
A Russian immigrant
at the turn of the century,
just like my grandfather,
stowaways, refugees,
immigrants with nothing in
their pockets but dreams.
With humility and wisdom,
he unveiled the joys and
the sorrows, the terrors and
the wonders that fill the
space between the stars.
So many times I think
of that day, a drugstore
in Jacksonville, an uncle
who fed my appetite for
cheap comics, the same
pulpy trash that led
Asimov astray.
He bought me my first
paperback, the cover had
caught my eye.
Did he know that he was
handing me the Universe,
setting my feet firmly
on the path of
"The Martian Way?"

 

 

Poem © 2004 by Daniel C. Smith chstop1@netzero.com





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