We stood at the edge
of the back yard,
next to the garage—
where I’d pretended to be
an astronaut in a
cardboard spaceship—
on a chill November night,
watching Sputnik II
arc across the sky.
I didn’t know why
he was rarely home—
or why it wasn’t always
like this when he was:
quiet,
steady,
present.
All I knew was the stars were out,
and he was beside me—
and Laika was...
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