The Sky Filled with Stars

 

I like that story

where a visitor is told

The universe is a blanket

spread above us as a tent

 

Over time the fires warmed us

sent up their sparks

to burn small holes

through which the bright

 

light of the world beyond

shines through as stars.  Today

Teresa writes to our family

the results of her mother’s scan.

 

Picture the sky filled with stars,

with several small asteroids

here and there in my aunt’s lung.

I can’t.  I hold this picture:

 

Pat in a hot yellow mini dress

marries my uncle, her beautiful

beehive—gathered and glossed—

rising high as a sun.

 

I picture a life she’s woven

of hardship and disappointment,

of faith and devotion,

of tenderness, humor,

 

and Love.  Picture a family

as warm and as strong

as a soft knitted blanket.

She is the light shining through.

 

 

Normal Poem

Normal Poem

 

This is a normal poem for normal times.

Like normal poems, it normally rhymes.

 

It goes to the store—without masking up.

It hugs its grandmother; she sings at worship.

 

This poem goes to concerts—makes dinner for friends!

This poem is so friendly it overextends.

 

It only thinks “swabs” when it thinks about Q.

It’s as open to me as it’s open to you.

 

It likes regular stanzas: all lines in their place.

It doesn’t know chaos or shared live/work space.

 

It goes to the office; this poem’s a commuter.

It gets down to business on a desk-top computer.

 

This poem does not zoom.  This poem does not go.

It’s an end-stopped pre-covid old-timey memento.