Pass With Care

I think I first heard of it

from my father. Of the

seed shadows that emigrate

back & forth between

the soul of the night &

its inaccessible step-sister,

the silverfish. How, when

rumors stalled in mines of

future grief (that instant when

the first planet burst in upon

itself – atoms whiplashing across

the camouflaged cosmos) were

forgotten, the rain of unbelief

finally began to fall. He saw

action in Korea, my father,

returning home to Boston to help

create me & my three siblings

out of nothing. Ma sits on our

front porch now, mouth

set, pensive, staring at the

fading lilac just a few feet

away. I like it here

she says. I’ve always liked

sitting here in the sun.