We swatted away mosquitoes
as we sat outside and chatted.
The little kids chased fireflies.
Dusk fell.

And all the while, he was setting up the telescope,
aiming it, deciding which lens would work best.

Then we each took a turn viewing the moon.
Some had to climb a stepstool to see.

As the sky darkened he re-aimed,
then re-focused the instrument. Over
and over, he re-aimed, re-focused.

One by one each of us again leaned in
close to the eyepiece, cried out
or gasped or aahed
 
at the four Galilean moons of Jupiter,
two tiny sparks on each side,
and later, at Saturn’s icy rings.

That night he widened the world
for all of us.

© by Phyllis Wax.
Used here with the author’s permission.