January 23, 2021 – from when I’ll want to relate again
I was born in the South for the backdrop of open sky it hung in my mind,
like a flat field of bluegrass that answers only to wind and
the sound of a freight train beating by (goodbye) in the night. But here,
now there’s just a nail clip of bright blue in the morning
and I’ve spent years in New York preparing for it—
the little gift I get for being actually awake for something.
Given to me by a friend I haven’t met, passed under the table,
while the grownups are still talking about whether it’s responsible to have babies,
if handshakes will come back, how expensive it all is and there is always something
about a television show. Peter says we should watch only one episode
but I convince him that we’re unstoppable. I watch until my life feels flatter still,
so that there’s even less to swim in.
Our minds are murky but we’re laughing, alive and hoping I’ll remember
the heroes in the seaweed.
There are children in the morning.