The black wire rack
stood in the corner
of a small room
near the cafeteria
and waited patiently
with books in arms
for me to come
with a few coins
moist in my fist
and spin it around
with my free hand
to bring the blue cover
of Danny Dunn and
the Homework Machine
squeaking to a stop
by my outstretched fingers
reaching out to touch
my first book
of science fiction.

I lifted the book
from the rack
paid my thirty-five cents
and stepped across
a threshold
into the first of
countless worlds
of wonder and
promise and
mystery where
ideas and questions
rose like rockets
and shone like stars.

Forty years later
my sense of touch
has grown dull
with technological
calluses but when
Wednesday’s waning
Moon drew near
to Venus before dawn
the near-occultation
turned in my mind’s eye
to align itself above
an ebony monolith
waiting patiently
for the brushing touch
of hominid’s paw
or astronaut’s glove
for the search
the striving that spans
the millennia
and the hope that rises
with hope and wonder
like the Nature-motif
of Also sprach Zarathustra.

David M. Frye
April 23, 2009
Denton, Neb.