The birds are crying
“Whoooo, whoooo, whooo,”
in the morning
sunlight that sweeps the land at 5am,
a dapple of sun on
the grass.
I am not shattered.
I am whole. Like a dandelion
in the breeze, I
rise and find myself enjoying
life more and more,
by myself or with someone.
I know there are
shadows in the morning, less
in the evening
during summertime, and I play in
the kiddie pool with
my four-year-old son,
I still tell him his
daddy is off at war, and that he is
sick and dying, even
though he cheated on me with
my third cousin and
is now living with her in Las
Vegas, Nevada, near
the Alien Highway.
I don’t know if
there is such a thing as aliens,
or how they move
through space, without a spaceship,
or with, and if they
speak a language that is different
from our own, or
maybe they just like writing like
me, I form a little
“o” of words, my head nodding
in rhythm to the
music, tonight I sleep and dream
of a man who is
worthy of my love, worthy more
of my son, worthy of
how we live.
It’s not what you
say but how you say it,
and dive to the
bottom of the ocean and come back up again,
and again, and
again.
