The Astronaut
Ambrielle Butler| Poetry, Summer 2026
They say that moving on is not a linear process, much like
the shaky path of a satellite launched into orbit, vaulting
upwards through the atmosphere, traversing past
the stars, trust the process, they say, sometimes you will find yourself
where you began, but beginning is a tedious business better
confined to tying shoelaces or solving jigsaw puzzles, your smile
was crooked, bent teeth of a blade, and when you laughed, the
sound was metallic, tremor of chimes in the wind, and your skin
was freckled with light, pinpricked with liquid sun, and when
your car flipped, shards of confetti danced in your hair, the
grumble of earth splitting open down the navel, vehicular metal
warped and wounded like molten sand in a tide, and you,
floating through the sky, limitless, weightless, light—in my
dreams you never land, drifting somewhere, solar bound.
______________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“Grief and loss live on long past the instant we become acquainted with them. In that way, loss forms its own trace fossil within us. I find that poetry is a wonderful vessel to temporarily stash my grief and, hopefully, for readers to unburden some of their own.”
Ambrielle Butler is a writer and poet living in Arizona. Her poetry can be found or is forthcoming in publications like Inlandia, Okay Donkey, Belmont Story Review, Superstition Review, Valley Voices, Plainsongs and others. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @ajbutlerwriting.
The Astronaut
Ambrielle Butler| Poetry, Summer 2026
They say that moving on is not a linear process, much like
the shaky path of a satellite launched into orbit, vaulting
upwards through the atmosphere, traversing past
the stars, trust the process, they say, sometimes you will find yourself
where you began, but beginning is a tedious business better
confined to tying shoelaces or solving jigsaw puzzles, your smile
was crooked, bent teeth of a blade, and when you laughed, the
sound was metallic, tremor of chimes in the wind, and your skin
was freckled with light, pinpricked with liquid sun, and when
your car flipped, shards of confetti danced in your hair, the
grumble of earth splitting open down the navel, vehicular metal
warped and wounded like molten sand in a tide, and you,
floating through the sky, limitless, weightless, light—in my
dreams you never land, drifting somewhere, solar bound.
______________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“Grief and loss live on long past the instant we become acquainted with them. In that way, loss forms its own trace fossil within us. I find that poetry is a wonderful vessel to temporarily stash my grief and, hopefully, for readers to unburden some of their own.”
Ambrielle Butler is a writer and poet living in Arizona. Her poetry can be found or is forthcoming in publications like Inlandia, Okay Donkey, Belmont Story Review, Superstition Review, Valley Voices, Plainsongs and others. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter @ajbutlerwriting.