The stars in the North Atlantic hide
for months behind an eternal dusk sun.
I can’t take comfort that we see the same stars
if I can’t see them at all; time passes
even though we’ve been apart for months
and the calendar says the days do, too.
Without the stars flickering or the hint
of clouds gliding through moonlight, I can’t tell.

I left Norfolk months ago and yesterday;
tomorrow, the next day, or ten years from now,
I’ll be home, greeted like Odysseus by Eumaeus:
a king returns to Ithaca and strings his bow.

Kyle Hanton

"Kyle Hanton is a 2013 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, where he received a B.S. in English and won the 2012 A. Stuart Pitt Memorial Poetry Award for best poem by a midshipman, and earned an M.P.S.M. in Sports Industry Management from Georgetown University in 2023. After years of active duty both asea and ashore, he transitioned to the Naval Reserve and specializes in Public Affairs. During his naval service, he circumnavigated the globe over the course of two deployments, hunted submarines north of the Arctic Circle, and served as Speechwriter to the Secretary of the Navy. Originally from Dimondale, MI, he now lives in Lakeville, MA, with his wife, daughter, two dogs, and four cats. His greatest joy is being a husband to his wife and a father to his daughter. He spends his time juggling his love of words with trying not to think about the giant wolf spiders lurking in the cranberry bogs. He has the occasional daydream about starlit nights at sea."

1 Comment

D.A. Gray says:

January 4, 2026 at 11:11 pm

Powerful poem that captures what it is for loved ones to undergo so much change apart from each other, to the point that it’s not clear we’re looking at the same planet. And the uncertainty of what we’ll return to – strangers? familiars? the kindness of Eumaeus, the hostility of the banquet hall? A poem that ends at the point of greatest tension. Thanks for sharing this.