Between the Earth and Mars they drifted, Sun at the hinge of their long ellipse. Their captain filed the silence neatly; The nav computer took a sip. Then something crossed the black ahead— A blip too small to make a case. They circled once, then twice, then voted To send the brave ones into space. We came for the unknown, With our helmets buttoned tight. We brought it home at last— A kettle, black with flight. And underneath its handle, In a hand that knew its worth: “Property of Russell.” The first address on Earth. The volunteers returned in triumph, Dust on their boots, a quiet pride. The captain asked what truth they’d witnessed, And one replied: “It’s hard to describe.” They weighed the relic, logged its scratches, Ran tests to prove it wasn’t fake. But every scan and every measurement Just showed a kettle, plain and plain. We came for the unknown, With our helmets buttoned tight. We brought it home at last— A kettle, black with flight. And underneath its handle, In a hand that knew its worth: “Property of Russell.” The first address on Earth. Perhaps the universe is mostly Things misplaced and things misread. A thousand suns, a million questions, One small kettle, lightly dented. We search the dark for grand designs; It sends us back a household sign. We came for the unknown, And gave it room to speak. It answered with a label And a little mineral leak. If meaning needs an owner, If wonder needs a name, Then Russell crossed the heavens And the kettle stayed the same. Between the Earth and Mars they drifted, The Sun still holding every line. They poured the tea, observed a moment, And called the silence “probably fine.” "You know..." "If there's a kettle..." "Then somewhere out there..." "Must be the teapot."
