After the Insurrection, You Make a Phone Call
The news likes blood, can’t see peace
in your future. But your grandson says,
“It will be okay, Grandma,
I have a cape,” and hope ignites,
a flicker of illumination in the dark.
You remember when his father was that small,
and smaller, a seed you hadn’t yet discerned,
already stretching, opening within you.
How is it that such small things
can give you heart: raindrops
on the bare branches of the dogwood,
the flute of the thrush’s song?
By Bethany Reid
Bethany Reid’s Sparrow won the 2012 Gell Poetry Prize. Her recent poetry books are Body My House (Goldfish Press, 2018), and The Thing with Feathers, which was published as part of Triple No. 10 by Ravenna Press (2020). Learn more at http://www.bethanyareid.com.
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