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Candle rising to its feet
fed by cake of snow
and calendar Pioneer
numeral Glyph of self
Bookmark to place
within memory Here
the first smile Here
the first step First
word First school First
remembered loneliness
First good kiss One
a visitation A thumb
Freshly downed arrow
A lamppost to circle
If all else goes to crumb
look at this pillar this
elevator shaft with open
doors Read the plaque
that says You invented
a new way to invite air
into body You were bark
trunk birdhouse bird worm
You are flight You are
flying Here is the place
you whispernamed Liftoff

Well Here We Are

"Night Travel," by Paula Baader

Well Here We Are

Sky taupe with snowlight and moonlight and cloud
crawling in the window and my son sleeping sprawled across my legs
going nowhere with Peter Pan
who as I understand it as an adult is a great menace
Outside zero bombs flay our neighborhood to its quaking skeleton
The only injury in this room is a cut on my pinky under a bandage
Everything is terrible
Everything is beautiful

Roller Coaster

Roller Coaster

Roller coasters rise from the earth
like the loops of tied shoelaces.
Spindly pillar and wooden plank--
theirs is an architecture of feigned
instability. We make a game of
climbing and falling, of expectation,
if only to shriek and briefly touch
the coarse edge of terror, and then
to let it withdraw, subsiding with a rattle.