a life flight helicopter flying low on a mission or other
pierces our after school lounging
we are about the pond feeding the fish stale bread with
a laziness that arrived with the humid front,
a quiet overcomes my children, a moment of craned necks
hand to brow squint, a salute to things they can’t yet know:
the fragility of limbs against metal, glass, the possibility of peril
the time we have together slim, the thin veils we live behind
what they do know is the long lines of traffic when once
after ballet class we were twenty cars behind an accident
the single lane road to our small town crowded for a while,
a brief community as drivers slowly got out of cars to learn
our fate. It was dinner time, but I had been to the store and had
crackers and carrot sticks to feed my young. Kid music chanted
and they were calm, the desperation to get home subdued
by the open car doors, the unfamiliar wide eyes of adults
saddened by the thoughts of what could have been
if they had not gone back for milk
