Chickens are a Poem
It was the fact that the poem was written out on paper – real paper – that kept Fatimah from tearing it off the wall of the Unity and wadding it into a ball. The shuttle wasn’t hers, of course. She was merely its Captain. While docked on the Bon Ki it served as the ship’s observational station, the ‘obv-pod’ as Chief Science Officer Park called it. Fatimah simply thought of it as the telescope; and for that reason alone it was as good as hers.
Except now it had been violated. Again. Someone had come in and left this poem, pinning it to the wall with two, standard issue magnets. Fatimah didn’t need any clues to unravel this mystery. There were only two other people on this ship: Park, and Chief Engineer Anders. Frankly, considering the chicken incident, it was unlikely either of them were innocent.
She reached a hand out to push away the magnets, but the feel of the paper as her fingers grazed it stopped her. It wasn’t printer paper. Nor the same texture as the sticky notes Joe was always covering their house with. No. This was nice paper. Thick and textured. A thing rare to come across even on Earth, with its wild abundances. Its limitless storage space for unnecessaries. She tilted her head a fraction and found the ink glistened, shimmering as if imbued with all the dust of the heavens. Unconsciously she leaned in to read it.
And then stopped. She didn’t read poetry, unless one wanted to reclassify constellations as poems. And no amount of expensive paper or pretty words could cover what this was: an excuse not to apologize. She breathed out one short breath of frustration and left, not sure where she was headed until she found herself amidst the hum of computers.
A small twinge of guilt penetrated her anger as she strode up to Anders. Anders was young. Easy prey. Fatimah knew she had come to her first because Park, at 70, intimidated her. Park’s youthfulness was backed up by experience and wisdom, whereas Anders’ was simply a byproduct of immaturity. Of a tunnel-visioned thoughtlessness.
“Anders.” She said, giving the young woman time to realize she was there. To blink, remove earbuds, refocus.
“Captain?”
“Have you left this room at all today since breakfast?”
“Um, no?” Anders’ brows furrowed, asking for the real question.
A puzzled response, not a guilty one.
“You know regulations state you should move every two hours. Set a timer for ten minutes and go on a walk.” Fatimah spun on her heel before Anders could answer, fuming with herself for not going straight to Park.
Her soft ship slippers muffled her footfall in a deeply unsatisfying way as she strode down the hall. She stopped at the door to the science lab, waited that split second before it slid open, sensing her. Drawing back to reveal the strange colors and smells of Park’s domain. A garden, twining around microscopes and algae vats, and that absurd chicken coop. She wanted to hate it, but Joe –
He would have loved the idea of chickens in space.
He would have thought finding chickens in a space telescope was hilarious.
Suddenly the image of those stupid birds, looking at her unfazed amidst their self-made chaos, popped into her head, echoing with the sound of his laugh – free and unafraid.
She snorted.
It wasn’t a laugh. Just a snort. But it was enough. Enough to remember learning that some mysteries didn’t need to be solved to be enjoyed. Like the stars, or poetry, or awkward gestures of kindness. Like people.
Like love.