Saturday, February 21, 2015

Crushing Coal

My sons are brothers I raised to wonder
hard enough to crush coal into diamonds
and back again. I wanted them to think

until the sky turned blue and they could stare
directly into the sun. I begged them to question
until they knew what thrived in the dark underneath

of stones no one else had ever bothered to turn.
Now I know I owe them each a small patch of paradise,
a little easy green, a picnic in the shade,

and a few minutes just lying on their backs
naming the shapes of the fair weather cumuli –
I mean, the fluffy white clouds floating overhead.

San Pedro River Review - Spring 2015

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