Living on the Ice Planet

Space is cold, dark.
We travel in tunnels underground that spit us out into tiled rooms.
We learn technologies of warmth,
technologies of sustenance,
and give them to each other as precious gifts.
Walking above ground, I see a transporter go past with a photo of a planet on it's side,
shaping my imagination of this space I inhabit.
Waiting in the underground tunnels,
I see photos on screens of my home planet's dying ecosystem.
We have no home to return to,
intergalactic diaspora.
My father also took flight,
from the violence neocolonialism brought to his homeland,
in a silver and orange arc in the dark sky,
yet the planet he landed on was as hot, humid and fecund as his own.
The icy surface of this place is bright, reflective,
I watch it through the windows,
disappearing under snow, again and again,
as we hold each other tight to stay warm.
We need to build homes where we go,
to carry them with us, and in us.

Yet You Build A Family Here