‘. . . . at the end of the rainbow life has only begun’
I am thinking of your children.
I am thinking of Provincetown and swordfish
from the IGA; hearing Terry Jane laugh and Jeff
and all that good talk. I am seeing your face
when you talked about your toddlers. How
my arms feel the baby boy, his father our teacher.
I am thinking how does he live without his boy. I am
thinking of hate, how easy it can be. I am thinking
of kneeling before candles, for my mother’s answer to violence
was prayer, her comprehension unrevealed, except in the set of her mouth.
Now the mother, my son in his changeling years, I asked
her and she said: “There was enough hurt in the world
and your father and I didn’t want to add to it.”
And I am thinking I don’t hate. Today I don’t know
how to hate: a gun, a person, a dogma, a word.
I am thinking of your children.
