Before I crossed the railroad tracks
I stopped to gather myself, to make sure I noticed the feeling of crossing when no train was coming.
I looked down the tracks for the ghost of River Phoenix.
Thoughts of my Mama Jo flew by, the tracks up on the hill behind her house
Pennies my brother and I placed there; we waited, excited to see their fate.
On the other side, I stopped again, to make sure I noticed how it felt to want to see something.
Something that would spark a spark if I sent you a picture.
Or had nothing happened, and this is who you are?
On my walk the next day, I didn’t look for things to show you
I walked and looked for no one but me.
And I saw a chimpanzee painted on the side of a freight car, it must have been more than 10-feet tall.
I don’t know what the fuck that means.
I could have shown you things you’d never seen.
What did I manifest?
What did I couple to the goodness and light?
The cat that God, tired at the end of the fifth day, phoned in as calico.
A centaur, a mash up of men Frankensteined together.
A tangle of thoughts but the comb rakes my heart.
Remember when the house was new to us still?
When we returned our final offer on our first home, I had wanted the thrill of a deal.
To ask for something more exciting,
more mogul than a 12-month home warranty.
So I asked that the garden ornaments convey.
All of them.
Never mind I liked none of them.
Remember when the yard was unfamiliar to us still?
You stood tall and young, looking out the window filled with night
Your hands in the kitchen sink.
I saw you look twice.
Eyes big, you waved your hand and called me over.
(How I loved it when you said my name.)
Pointing, ‘Do you see it? That glowing, do you see it?’
I did. I saw it. But had no idea what it was.
A small spaceship? The eyes of an animal? A piece of the moon?
I didn’t venture out alone to investigate
Or send you into the dark by yourself
Nor mumble, ‘It’s probably nothing.’
We went outside together,
Tip-toeing around the catawpa tree, its limbs so low you had to duck.
Closer now, giggling.
‘No, you go.’
‘I’m not going. You go.’
We approached the glow together, an army of two.
You nudged it with the tip of your shoe.
Nothing, no movement.
I bent down and poked the mystery on the ground.
‘Oh my god,’ I said, no more whispering.
The glow was from an extension cord set outside to power the small lily pond,
it’s illuminated end, once hidden under the mulch, now exposed.
The glow was nothing we expected it to be. Like so many things that would come to the surface.