a little and heavymeaningful life on her back, and when she steps into the airlock, she begins to feel grief about what will happen if the parts of her can’t find their placedistancepartwhile.

Inga Lighter an Øyvind Grower waatch Astrid come in

Inga is thinkan, whit wey tae explaen

the staetion noo? That scant the lighteen,

that scrimp the tithes. Øyvind is fashan

at whither or no her vooels’ll come haem.

Inga rubs her clippert heid

an thinks: Varday is tint the haalage,

Aikeray the traed, an only

the kirk is ivver fill, fer prayan.

Øyvind birls a pod in his lang

fingers an waatches the ship link

intae Meginwick’s muckle dock,

a cathedral o girders an stances appenan

intae the haaf. Inga coonts

the yoles. Øyvind mynds on his years

on the Mars–Orcadia shippeen reute

an whit he kens o surface life,

whit he can share noo wi his dowter.

An whan the airlock appens an Astrid

is eyght year aalder an jeust the sam,

her spacer fock is waitan, still.

Øyvind shifts an appens his airms.

Inga says, “Buddo,” an lifts her bags.

Inga the Lighter and Øyvind the Grower watch Astrid come in

Inga is thinking about whathowwherewhy to explain what the station is like now. So scarceshortsmall the lighting,

so meagrestunted the tithes. Øyvind is fussvexworrying about whether or not her vowels will come home.

Inga rubs her shorn head and thinks: Varday has losemissfailed the haulage,

Aikeray the trade, and only the church is ever full, for praying.

Øyvind whirlrushdancespins a pod in his long fingers and watches the ship glidetrotrestconnect

into Meginwick’s greatbig dock, a cathedral of girders and platformsites opening

into deep space. Inga counts the boats. Øyvind rememberknowreflectwills his years

on the Mars–Orcadia shipping route and what he knows of planetary life,

what he can share now with his daughter. And when the airlock opens and Astrid

is eight years older and just the same, her spacer folk are waiting, stillfixedsecretsilent.

Øyvind changedodgemoves and opens his arms. Inga says, “FriendChildLove,” and lifts her bags.

The visietor, Darling, leuks fer a piece tae bide

“J-Just to look,” sheu says, catchan the poynt

o the yolewife’s quaistion. Sheu wis been raedan aboot

the Wrack-Hofn’s mistry, aboot the yoles

landan thir haal o Lights, aboot the stoor

i’the gowden tide, aboot the paece o distance,

aboot a uncan wey o spaekan, o wirkan,

o pittan up wirds, o bidan, belongan, an waantid

tae leuk. But noo sheu’s speiran the first body

sheu saa i’the bay fer the first directions, an habbers,

fer the first time no kennan hoo tae explaen hersel.

“Ir ye?” says the wife, no askan. A din-faced

stuggie body, her snackie haands is deep

i’the wires o her craft. “Ye’ll waant tae spaek tae Eynar

o the Hoose. Whit ye’d caa wir bar. He’ll sort ye.

Tell him Margit sent ye.” Like Eynar, Margit