After Two Years of Studying Heather Cox Richardson
I can’t inform if the world is ending
like on 9/11 when a collective innocence
vanished into the blue blue blue
sky and now icebergs soften
and hurricanes and tornadoes whip the wind,
and a few people stir their worry and wrath
with weapons and rights—is that this the start
of the top, has worse come to worst?
I keep in mind my mom saying,
Properly, if worse involves worst, we will at all times…
She had a plan, had one thing
to defrost within the freezer, knew how
to keep away from cops as she sped alongside the freeway.
Now she’s hushed within the sediment of our pond—
her ashes billowed right into a ghost
earlier than they settled. Each she and Dad left
with a secret of secrets and techniques, left what was not paradise.
Is the world unspooling its heft,
because it spins and tilts into catastrophe?
I need it to final, need mantra and breath
and perhaps a couple of grandchildren
who will swim within the pond,
held by the cool water, the clear
sky rippled on its floor.