chandeliers, four clever musicians
play, as the ghost of a girl
pops through an invisible loop,
swims in the air, her sheer white
gown easy and comfortable,
her escape from the watchers
Pausing, playing, turning upright,
she holds a huge glass tier
in the way a subway rider
holds on to a strap, her small
incandescent feet dangling
in the air like notes on a vast page.
THE ROCKING CHAIR
on a rocking chair, holding its back.
A miniature prisoner of wood,
he is looking through its slats.
He misses the crazy little dog
who barks at the toaster, his tomboy
sister, and toasted cheese sandwiches.
“I don’t know why you insist on keeping
that rocker,” the father said. “As far
as I’m concerned, it’s like honoring
a murder weapon.” The eyes of the boy’s
mother move slightly, her only reply.
Gentle prayers dance in the air like a child
breathing bubbles through a circle on a stem.
The boy places goodbye kisses on the faces
of his sister and mother, touches his father’s hand.
And now he is with me his First Mother…