The Death of Opportunity

“My battery is low and it’s getting dark.” -Opportunity

The Mars Rover died. I had lost my Valentine

by choice. I had been crying over everything:

dead bumblebees, spilled orange soda, meandering machines.

There is something ugly about the numbness—

this lack of care for my own body.

I match with men who tell me I’m pretty

even though they’ve only seen me in 2D.

I want to kiss them even though I feel nothing

when we touch. I question what is wrong with me.

They said it was a dust storm that killed Opportunity,

but I bet it was loneliness. The thing about zeitgeists

are their singularity—the solitude in such spirit.

I broke up with her because I didn’t love her

anymore. If I was cruel, I would have stayed.

It was my first February that I lived alone

after four years. There was so much static

as Opportunity passed—I imagine the snap crackle

pop. The sudden stop. Maybe there was nothing

left to say. I could never survive in space—

all that pinging again and again.