in various directions
I am watching the wildflowers struggle with the shifting sun.
It's not light they crave, but heat. I keep rotating them at the kitchen window,
but by noon they're all crowded on the same corner, and I'm wondering
how long I can keep them close before they go, doing what wildflowers will do.
Love, Christine said, is not for the faint of heart. This morning, the boys—
freed from school—escaped in various directions; friends, a skate park. Anywhere
but here. Later, they will return, asking what's for dinner, and our quiet equipoise
will briefly disassemble as we crowd them with attention. At the table, we will hover
and fuss, and they will stare, wild-eyed, into space...or so we think. The sun will set,
bending all of us toward some horizon we don't have words for yet.