Mom's in Los Angeles; Winter 2018
Mom’s in Los Angeles; Winter 2018

When the sun falls

And the shadows unfurl

Behind rusting bars

The heartbeats of home lie in snippets of dim blue pulsing.

Across their peeling adobe,

The wind just trots,

But behind them,

A blue screen blares:

“War
Hate
and
disaster
are
imminent
near
you.”

The next morning,

When sunlight returns,

From the walls

These tiny creatures emerge.

Eyes endowed with the sky,

They stretch out like the hues

To advance on the ground, warbling.

Every sound, weight and worry

Each lived inexperience,

The whole world yet to be,

Is at the tip of their palms.

No matter how we forecast it,

It is they who are the wind,

The ones beside you

All imminence, their charge.

J.T.

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