Providence
We leaned back
in the planetarium
seats, looking up
into the dark—
a father and his
two sons. We heard
what could have been
God, the universe,
an actor reading from
a script. He told us where
we came from, where
we were among
infinite specks of light.
The boys grew
animated, silhouettes
pointing to
constellations, heads
leaning closer, more
questions
wanting answers.
The younger crawled
into my lap,
the older held
my hand
under the great
black dome.
When the lights
came on, my sons stared
at the large blank screen.
Everyone
stood up. I began
searching for
my keys.
Long Gone
Because the boys
will not stop
fighting, I hit
the brakes and
turn around,
staring them
down, the words,
loud and cruel,
rushing from
my mouth, until they
cower in
their seats, and when
I’m done, angrier
than even I
understand,
the younger says,
He scared me,
as if I’m not
there, the way years
from now, driving,
he might confess—He
scared me
sometimes—to his
brother, the road
ending abruptly
at a field of trees
they can’t see through
and must guess
instead what lies
beyond it.
For a Spell
You dip the end of the small plastic wand
into the soapy water, hold it
to your mouth, and blow gently, so
the iridescent film
within the serrated ring
trembles as it grows and grows, until
you are—we are—in it,
all that has ever or will ever waits
outside the bubble, which floats, now,
slowly to the ground.
*
When a bubble floats to the ground
it means something is about
to break. A spell can be
broken. We say, You fall
under a spell the way
we say you fall
in love. For a spell means, an undefined,
but short period of time,
as in, For a spell, we didn’t want
anything else.
- Three Poems - September 5, 2020
