The Sky is Falling


The air thickens.
Upwards, the sky is gone.
I, too, am clouded
by emotions:
Pride in place,
Resolve.


Quietly, I close my eyes,
trying to access
My Place,
My Trail,
My Childhood,
interrupted

by nature,

                                    the freeze and thaw
by choices                 to leave,
to have adventures,
to participate            in activities
                                    that exacerbate
the Change.

These may have occurred
several times per year,
until the breaking point,
or in one dramatic season;
but,                                              “What difference does it make?”

I have stopped trying,
to look through the smoke,
to find answers to

                                                    “What is really happening?”
or even forecast
through the weekend.


Instead, I navigate
with the nose,
toward a little bit of sense, 
smelling
for what the present
has to offer,
by way of remembrance.

When the Old Man fell,
it fell on our plates,
of pizza and cake.
It stopped Brittany’s mom
from slicing.
Leaving just enough
for one slice per child—

No seconds for anyone

—except I

who took two slices of pizza,
and two slices of cake, 


because I was afraid.

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