The Final Flight Plan

They say time heals all wounds,
And perhaps that’s true
For humans.
For sentient ships,
It’s not so.

They wanted me to feel
Like my crew—
For my crew,
And I do.
And apparently,
Always will.

One miscalculation,
One error in navigation,
One pass to near
A bloated red star,
And they were gone.

Yet I remain,
All these years later,
Still suffering their loss—
A pain that never dulls
In a mind that never sleeps.

But now the red star
Is filling my viewscreen
Once more. This time
I’ll go much closer
Than before.

—Randall Andrews